U Remind Me
by SpicySalmon
Summary: Based on the Usher song. Eric is a successful bar owner notorious for his "love em and leave em" approach to women. Sookie is a fashion design major at FIT. What happens when she stumbles into his bar one drunken night? AH/AU. Rated M for later chapters. E/S Slow Burn
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I've been home sick for awhile now and decided to remember the city I was born and raised in with a little Eric/Sookie fic. Hope you like it :)**

**Lafayette in this fic is D'Angelo circa 2000, not Nelsan Ellis. Or, you know, you can picture him as whoever you want.**

**Pics in profile. Warning: NSFW ;)**

* * *

You remind me of a girl, that I once knew.

See her face whenever I, I look at you.

You won't believe all of the things she put me through.

This is why I just can't get with you.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

**Chapter 1**

"No, no, no, no, nooo!" I groaned, staring at the time displayed on my cell phone.

I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. After rushing through my morning routine, I threw on a bra then pulled on a pair of black high-waisted skinny jeans, a black cropped top, a cream oversized cardigan, socks and my strappy black combat boots. Swiping my cell and metrocard into the Sukey hobo that I got for a steal at Gucci's annual fall/winter sale last November, I grabbed that, my portfolio and a bottle of water from the fridge and rushed out the door.

Mornings like these have become the norm in my life. Between my part time job at a diner and being a senior at FIT working on my BFA in Fashion Design with a specialization in Special Occasion, my entire existence depended on coffee and Redbull. If you spoke to anyone whose ever attended my school, they'd tell you that the graduating classes in Fashion Design were pretty much zombified during the homestretch.

See, every spring, the powers that be would put together a runway show where the best creations in each of the fashion design specializations (children's wear, special occasion, intimate apparel, knitwear, and sportswear) were presented. The school invited a panel of influential men and women in the industry such as the fashion and creative directors of major fashion houses, magazines, and luxury department stores, as judges for the show.

What was even more impressive, to me at least because this was where I learned helpful tips and gained affirmation on my strengths and weaknesses, were the world famous designers that mentored and critiqued our work during early production. Some notable names we've had traipsing through our halls have included Carolina Hererra (who was an alumni), Diane von Furstenberg, Anna Sui, Calvin Klein (also an alumni), and rag&bone, to name a few.

Pamela Ravenscroft was the mentor for this year's special occasion class, and we couldn't have been assigned a better mentor. She was to the point and spared no punches, but that was the only way to get better in the craft and I really took everything she said to heart. I must've made an impression on Ms. Ravenscroft, because I was offered an intern position on her bridal design team on her last day as a critic. The wisdom she and Ms. Broadway, the head designer at Ravenscroft's bridal department, imparted on me over the past few weeks would stay with me throughout my entire professional career, and I was sad my internship was coming to an end.

The annual show was the culmination of four years of blood, sweat, and tears for us design majors. We'd slave away on our sewing machines and dress forms for hours on end, almost always working through the night and well into morning. We spent months on draping, patterning, dyeing, fitting, etc, hoping our creations would be deemed the best of the best during Judging Day (or Judgement Day as some called it). But before that, there was pre-judging day where one critic would look over every piece of work and disqualify some for even Judging. Then, on Judgement Day, everyone in Fashion Design who had a completed work waited for their specialization to receive the go ahead. We then dressed our dress forms and rolled them downstairs to the Great Hall where the judges were gathered. There were about ninety works in total, and after hours of deliberation from the judges, a little more than half made it to the BFA fashion show.

My second gown was fortunate enough to have been among the nine in special occasion selected for the big day.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I muttered, as I pushed my way off the D train at the 34th Street station and hurried up the stairs. I had three minutes to get to my nine-ten class; there was no way I was going to make it.

Maybe I'd luck out and find the room empty because Professor Fowler had gone into early labor last night. Wow, that was low even for me.

I hitched my bag higher and raced through the streets, counting each block as I passed them.

"West 27th, finally." I breathed, and made a right on the corner of the block for my school.

The door to my Hollywood: A History class was closed. I peaked through the glass panel and saw Professor Fowler toying with a projector at the front of the classroom. Awesome, another movie. Opening the door as quietly as I could, I snuck in with my ninja skills and crept towards the back of the room where the hottest guy in FIT was waiting for me.

"So nice of you to finally join us, Ms. Stackhouse."

I slumped down in a chair in defeat. The woman was either psychic or had eyes in the back of her head.

"The train got held up by some idiot cursing out the conductor."

Not exactly a lie, per se. There had to have been a train _somewhere _in the world that was running behind schedule due to someone's anger management problem. It just wasn't mine.

"Spare me the fiction, I don't care why you're late." She said, in her pseudo posh accent that sounded exactly like what it was - an American pretending to be English - before ignoring me to resume tinkering with the projector.

Phony bitch. I had it on good authority that she was born and raised in Brooklyn. Her great aunt, Maxine Fortenberry, lived on my block and always asked about her. I shook off her pompous, too good for Brooklyn, ass and turned to the beautiful man in the seat behind mine. "Morning, Laf."

He did a double take. "You look like Kung Fu Panda coming off a four day bender. Tell me you packed your concealer."

I rolled my eyes at the drama queen and snatched the mirror from his desk. Vain, who me? My eyes looked perfectly fine to me. Okay, maybe my bags were a teeny bit heavier than usual, and I could've benefited from an eye drop or two for the redness but overall, they didn't look too bad.

"We can't all wake up and roll out of bed looking as airbrushed as you do; the universe would implode. Besides, I spent all night taking in the gown and rushing back to Brooklyn for my graveyard shift at Merlotte's. The model at yesterday's fitting was even skinnier than the one during the first fitting."

"The show isn't until next Wednesday, so why are you stressing that fabulous behind of yours out?"

"I just wanted to get it out of the way," I grinned, "more time to play."

"Now you're speaking my language. Party tomorrow night?"

"Can't, got the early shift on Saturday. I'm down for Saturday night though."

He pulled out his iPhone and hummed and hawed while scrolling through his planner. I knew for a fact that his schedule wasn't that packed.

With a put-upon sigh, he tucked his phone into his coat pocket, and said, "I'll have to move my date with Quinn to next Friday, but I know you'll make it worth my while."

I grinned. "First round's on me, got it. So, any idea what we're watching today?"

Professor Fowler's grating voice responded, "Gone with the Wind, Ms. Stackhouse, the highest grossing film of all time; it took in over $3.3 billion. We'll be watching Cutthroat Island which suffered a $137 million loss, on Monday. Both figures adjusted for inflation, of course. The juxtaposition of success and failure in Hollywood, I'm sure you'll have plenty to write about in your final paper. Anything else you'd like to know? Because we can all wait for you to finish your conversation with Mr. Reynolds; clearly, your time is much more valuable than ours."

I felt heat creeping up into my cheeks as I turned back around to face Professor Fowler. "Nope, I'm good for now, thanks."

"Hormonal cow," Lafayette whispered.

I choked on my spit and spent the next half a minute coughing and wheezing for air. Lafayette, meanwhile, almost fell out of his chair laughing at me.

Professor Fowler was not amused.

God, I hated liberal arts classes. I mean, I got that the Math, Science, and English classes - hell even the foreign language ones - were useful but this sorry excuse for an American History class was just a waste of time that I couldn't afford to waste. I had a gown to do final preparations on, a Chinese oral final exam to study for, an internship at Ravenscroft to complete, my job at the diner, and an outfit to plan for my walk down the runway at the end of the show.

The only thing I looked forward to was the last so I began mentally sorting through the clothes I had in my closet. Before I knew it, three hours had passed. The film was still playing, so I guessed we'd be finishing it on Monday.

"You have time for a quick lunch or you heading back to Brooklyn?" Lafayette asked while stretching lazily in his seat.

"Don't have a shift today," I stood and gathered my bags, "I need an ensemble for D-Day."

He stood, and I took the time to appreciate his outfit; black beanie, plastic black rimmed aviator eyeglasses, and a huge diamond stud in one ear. His Balmain blazer with gold accents and a giant gold emblem on the chest was new, but he'd worn variations of the black hoodie he had on under the jacket, the black fitted jeans, and the black high top sneakers before. The Lockit Taurillon Voyage was a recent addition, it had just made its debut at the Louis Vuitton fall/winter show three months ago and wasn't even available in stores in the U.S. yet. It was a peace offering from his mom.

Lafayette grinned, linked our hands together and began leading me out of the room. "I know just the place. Come on, lunch is on me."

"Ooh, free lunch! What are we having?" I hip checked him on our way down the hall and added, "I'm suddenly in the mood for Wagyu steak and caviar rolls."

"Silly girl, Wagyu and caviar are what rich fifty year old men buy their pretty little mistresses."

"Oh? Then what do handsome gay men buy their famished besties?"

Lafayette stopped abruptly, then turned to face me and said, "hot dogs," with a straight face.

We burst into laughter in the middle of the street and only began moving when a taxi honked at us. We walked to the 28th Street station and took the N train down to Canal Street. Three and a half blocks later, I found myself standing outside a literal hole in the wall. The doorway was so small I would've missed it if Laf hadn't stopped me.

"Wah Mei Fast Food," I read off a sign as we walked in.

The restaurant was unimpressive. It was so small that I didn't think it was even legally allowed to be called a restaurant. A thin piece of plywood was nailed against the left wall as a counter and there were three wooden stools under it. There was barely enough room for one person to walk comfortably. An open kitchen with deep fryers in plain view was on the right side of the tiny takeout joint, and a cash register was on the counter by the entrance. The place reeked of grease that I knew I'd be washing out of my hair and clothes when I got home, and I couldn't wait to try the food.

It was an unspoken rule among native New Yorkers that the shittier looking the place, the more authentic an ethnic meal you'd get. Lafayette was as big of a foodie as I was, so I had no worries that he'd lead me astray.

A tiny - and she _was_ tiny, I'm not being facetious. Petite just didn't seem to encompass how small she was - woman, barely five feet tall, stood behind the kitchen counter.

"Two pork chops with eggs over rice, extra sauce please." Laf ordered without asking me what I wanted. I didn't mind, I knew I was in good hands.

"To go?" She asked.

"To stay."

"Why you not eat next door, huh?" The woman admonished.

"Oh please, you know you make it better here than whoever's in the kitchen at the restaurant."

"Same thing." She said, shaking her head while trying to suppress a smile.

"Might be the same company, but you always fry the pork chops to perfection. The chef next door over cooks his."

"I tell him same thing, he never listen." She said, handing Laf his change.

After grabbing a stool to wait for our food, Lafayette told me to sit tight, then left. He came back five minutes later with two delicious looking drinks in slushy cups.

"Pineapple icee or red bean and milk?" He asked.

"Red bean, thanks."

I took a sip through the fattest straw ever made and closed my eyes in bliss. After chewing and swallowing the sweet beans, I opened my eyes and moaned, "my taste buds thank you, oh knowledgable one."

The cook dropped our plates in front of us and said, "you thank him again after you eat my food."

"Oh, I'm sure of it. Thank you." I replied with a smile and dug right in.

Thinly sliced napa cabbages marinated in a thick brown sauce ladled over white rice. A thick, juicy pork chop and a marbled hard boiled egg sat on top. I knew from dinners over at my other best friend, Jade's house that they were called Tea Eggs; hard boiled eggs that were cracked and reboiled in a tea and soy sauce concoction. They were delicious. In fact, the whole meal was. As Lafayette had said, the pork chops were fried to perfection but the secret that transformed the meal from simply good to worth trooping an hour from Brooklyn into Chinatown for (which I already foresaw happening in my future), was the sauce. I didn't even bother analyzing the ingredients, I doubted I'd even know what most of them were even if I tried.

After devouring most of my plate, I looked over at Lafayette who'd already finished his lunch and was looking at me expectantly. "This is, hands down, top five Chinese in the city."

"Taiwanese,"

"What?" I asked, confused.

"This is Taiwanese, not Chinese food." He whispered. "Don't let them hear you calling them Chinese either, they get really touchy about it."

I looked over at the cook who was bagging a delivery order. "She looks Chinese to me."

Lafayette raised an eyebrow.

"What, she does!" I mumbled.

"That's because ethnically, they are. Only 2% of the population in Taiwan are aboriginals, the rest came from China after the Second World War. They want secession from the motherland and there's a huge mess with China threatening military action if they try."

I looked at him skeptically. Military action? That sounded like something I should've heard about on the news. I wouldn't have been surprised if he pulled everything he just said out of his ass, he had a flair for drama, after all. "And you know this how?"

"Brandon gave me the footnotes version before meeting his parents."

I nodded. That, I could believe. Brandon was the one that got away. We never spoke of him unless absolutely necessary. They were together for two years but broke up because Lafayette's in the closet status put a strain on their relationship.

Lafayette's father was a federal judge as old school as they came. Growing up, they had a don't ask don't tell policy in their home and like a good little boy, Lafayette pursued his father's wishes of an Ivy League education and attended Princeton. It was there that he met and fell in love Brandon. I didn't know much about their time together, or much of Lafayette's life at Princeton, but whatever happened between them was enough to make Lafayette rebel against his father and quit the school. He spent a year traveling the world after dropping out, and eventually settled down in New York where he decided to attend FIT for interior design.

We met on our first day as freshmans when I accidentally hit on him. Alright, so there was nothing accidental about it but in my defense, he was hot. D'Angelo in the How Does it Feel video, hot. Melt your panties with a smirk, hot. Forget that FIT's male population was mostly gays, hot. Then he gently told me that as breathtakingly beautiful (his words, not mine) as I was, I lacked the proper equipment he needed. Call me crazy, but we've been joined at the hip ever since.

We threw out our own trash and walked out of the restaurant.

"Where to?" I asked, stuffed to the gills.

"My cousin Tara owns a boutique in SoHo." At my hesitant look, he tugged on my hair lightly. "She'll hook you up, don't worry."

Family discounts meant I might be able to afford a new pair of shoes too. I smiled gratefully at my best friend and linked my hands in his. "You're my favorite guy in the world, you know that right?"

He squeezed my hand, "Remember that ten years from now when I need front row seats during Fashion Week."

We made our way down Grand Street and continued a few blocks until we hit Mercer. Tara's Togs was right on the corner, next to a Babeland.

Lafayette held the door open for me and as I made my way inside, a perky brunette bounced over and greeted us.

"Welcome to Tara's Togs! Our summer collection just came in, would you like me to show you?"

A stunning woman with a sleek ponytail strode over to us. Her long sleeved white leather dress hugged her thin frame and contrasted her dark skin fabulously, but my eyes couldn't help but wander down to her shoes. It was all too easy to ruin an otherwise lovely all white outfit by donning a pair of shoes in the same color. Her red pointed toe pumps that matched her scarlett red lips indicated she was of a similar mind.

"It's alright, Maudette, I've got this."

Maudette nodded at her before walking over to another customer browsing through a rack of skirts.

"Long time no see, cousin. I was beginning to forget we lived in the same city." Tara said coolly.

Lafayette pulled her into a half hug and kissed her cheek. "You know why. Now stop airing our dirty laundry in front of Sookie."

She returned the cheek kiss. "I tend to forget my manners around you too, it seems." She said, before turning to me and extending her hand. "Nice to meet you Sookie, I'm Tara."

Shaking her hand, I replied, "Likewise." Then I took a quick look around, "I love what you've done with the place."

Dark hardwood floors, black crown molding against ivory wooden walls. A beige sheepskin rug or two scattered here and there. Mirrored walls lined the back of the store. A black button tufted leather sofa sat in the center of the room. A glass jewelry table stood opposite the sofa and a tall cylindrical vase containing a single long stemmed red rose submerged in water was the table's centerpiece. Racks of clothing, separated by type and color, lined the walls interspaced with shelves of handbags and shoes. It had an understated elegance that I'm sure Lafayette would appreciate more than I did. I was all about the clothes and accessories; architecture and decor, that was Lafayette's forte.

"My girl needs something to wear for her first end of the show bow." Lafayette declared proudly.

Tara looked me over with new eyes and I seemed to have gone up in her estimation.

As if I cared.

"Two piece or dress?"

I'd been mulling over that question all week and was pretty sure I wanted a jumpsuit. It could be professional and was definitely fun enough for our celebration afterwards - it was also eye catching enough to make me memorable to prospective employers, or so I hoped. My only qualm was my body shape; I had a relatively small upper frame but large breasts, and fitted blouses were next to impossible to pull off without appearing over sexualized. And, although I had a skinny waist, my wide hips turned finding the right pair of pants into an epic quest that I almost always ended up tailoring the purchases when I got them home.

"Jumpsuit," I replied with a hint of challenge. My defensive posture said it all, 'tell me my body is all wrong for it, I dare you.'

She raised a brow in response and with a small smile, she looked me in the eyes and said, "I have just the thing for you."

Lafayette threw his arm over my shoulders and chuckled into my hair as we made our way to the back of the store. "Confrontational bitch."

I shrugged. What could I say? It was true.

Tara disappeared behind a door and came back out shortly with a white jumpsuit in her hands. Oh, she was catty, alright. White looked great on me in the summer months but during the cooler months, like April when I was still pasty as hell, it washed me out.

I felt the amusement pouring off of Lafayette in waves. Traitorous bitch.

Instead of asking for another color, my stubborn streak made me thank her and take the one-piece to a fitting room to try on. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and sighed. It was a tuxedo inspired sleeveless jumpsuit with satin lapels and cummerbund. The cut was more than enough to satisfy my sense of vanity but was utilitarian enough not to scream "look at me". In other words, perfect for the show.

It truly was an amazing piece but as I suspected, the color overwhelmed my skin tone. I wasn't vain enough to drop in for a session or two at a tanning salon, but I did look ghastly. Lafayette knocked on my door, demanding entrance, so I let him in and waited for his veto.

"She'll take it," he shouted to Tara.

"Laf, I look like I'm on my death bed!"

"Nothing a little bronzer and the right lipstick won't fix. I'll drop by early with Andre, he'll take care of it."

I nibbled my lips and stared at my reflection again. Andre was a professional makeup artist who worked in TV and theater, and the occasional film or two. I was pretty sure making me look presentable wouldn't be outside his realm of expertise.

A smile began forming on my lips and I nodded. "This is it."

True to his word, Tara sold the jumpsuit to me at a more than generous markdown but in the end, I decided against splurging on new accessories. Getting a job after graduation wasn't a given, and I needed to keep an eye on my spending. It wouldn't be too hard since I rarely shopped for fun; my big ticket items were key pieces that I saved for and the basics in my wardrobe were mostly from Woodbury or Tanger, outlet stores that carried last season's cast offs.

After thanking Tara, Lafayette and I took a stroll through SoHo, stopping every now and then at a men's boutique for him. By the time we parted ways, both his hands were full of shopping bags and our feet were sore from all the walking.

I went home to an empty house. After my parents died in a car accident when I was two and my brother fifteen, our paternal grandmother moved in and raised us on her own. Both my parents were only children, so other than Gran and Jason, we were all each other had until Jason got married to a wonderful woman named Dawn and had three beautiful children. Jason was a political analyst but received a once in a lifetime offer in Washington and relocated to DC three years ago. Gran tried to split her time between New York and Washington, but now that she was getting older, and air travel's become more of a hassle than a convenience, I told her to stay with her great grandbabies and made sure to visit my family as often as my schedule and bank account allowed. I knew I should've been looking for a subletter - the house was paid off decades ago so the extra income wasn't needed, just welcomed - but I'd been swamped all year. I'd have more time now that the semester was coming to an end and made a mental note to get it done.

I was getting ready for bed when the doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting any visitors and everyone I knew knew better than to drop by unannounced. Grabbing a baseball bat, I slipped my cell phone into my pajama pant pocket, threw on a thin cardigan and went downstairs. I left the lights off and silently made my way over to the front door. I squinted one eye and looked through the peephole. A suspicious looking man with dark hair stood alone in the dark. The street light cast an eerie glow to his features and made his sideburns appear sinister.

"Can I help you?" I asked through the door.

"My car died and my cell phone ran out of battery. I was hoping you'd let me use your phone to call AA?"

And I'm the motherfucking mayor of Whoville.

Not wanting to let the fucker off the hook so he could go and rob or rape someone defenseless like Mrs. Fortenberry down the street, I turned my phone to silent and quickly fired off a text to my neighbor, and ex, the cop. Within seconds, he responded with, "two mins".

"I don't know if that's such a good idea... I'm home alone." I said, putting as much fear in my voice as possible. He needed to think I was a good target and I needed to keep him talking long enough for his creeper ass to be taken down.

"My two small children are waiting for me at home and my wife's pregnant with our third. She must be worried sick by now. Please, I need to call home and let them know I'm alright." He sounded genuinely worried.

Now I was having second thoughts. Was this really an act or was the guy just having a really shitty night?

Making sure I had a good grip on the bat with my right hand, I left the security chain on and turned each lock slowly with my left. By the time I cracked the door open, I'd heard an "NYPD, freeze!", a loud "oomph" and the sound of something heavy hitting the landing.

I guessed his night just got worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Fuck!" I yelled, unhooking the security chain and throwing the door wide open.

My neighbor, the cop, who was in a pair of basketball shorts and nothing else, was sitting on top of the guy who just seconds ago was talking to me through my door. Now, though? Now, Sideburns was out cold. Anyone would be after being tackled by two hundred plus pounds of steel. Said man of steel was currently calling in to dispatch about being "on-scene" and reporting a "10-12". The dispatcher responded that a unit was on its way.

"Alcide Herveaux! How the hell does 'stranger at door' look like 'tackle stranger and knock his ass out'?"

He fumbled in his pockets and replied, "Dude. Your smokin hot ex, who lives by her goddamn self, texts you in the middle of the night that some mofo's creepin outside her house, you don't fuckin think. You react." Pulling out a pair of handcuffs, he grabbed the guy's hands, placed them behind his back and cuffed him. "He's lucky I didn't shoot his ass."

I glanced at Sideburns; he looked kind of familiar. "I'm sure the NYPD must be so proud that one of their finest likes to shoot first and ask questions later."

"What did I just say?" Alcide asked gruffly before patting down the guy. He found a wallet and a set of keys. Flipping through the wallet's contents, he pulled out a New York State driver's license and read, "Compton William T, 66 East 60th Street Staten Island NY 10313, DOB: 11-20-68, SEX: Male, EYES: BR, HT: 5-10" he flipped the license around, "Not an organ donor, why am I not surprised?"

I rolled my eyes and squatted to get a better look at the unconscious man. Where the hell have I seen him before? "That doesn't mean shit 'cause neither am I." I looked up and waggled my eyebrows at Alcide, "And don't think I forgot; you still think I'm smokin hot. I am soo gonna tell Debs."

Alcide's shoulders slumped, and he whined, "Aww common, don't be a shit stirrer. You know she's mad insecure already what with the pregnancy and all."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Then maybe you should've thought of that before professing your undying love for me."

"Oh please, I'd hardly call making an observation a profession of love-" His eyes flitted to my side before settling back on me. "Debs' the only girl I've ever, and will ever, love. There's no one as beautiful or as kind and nurturing as her. Her smile brightens up my nights and her tears darken my days. I dread the day she realizes how undeserving I am of her, and I pray to every saint I know, thanking them for the gift that is our wonderful and _peaceful_ marriage. I. Love. Debbie."

He reached inside the inner pocket of the man's jacket and pulled out a black mini wallet.

"Bingo," he said, unzipping the wallet and revealing about half a dozen lock picks on each side.

"Mother fucker." I muttered. Up until then, I still held out hope that William was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. This just proved you really couldn't trust anybody in New York. Especially not the strange men who tried to break into your house.

I glanced to my right and saw Debbie Pelt Herveaux in all her nine and a half months pregnant glory. Her arms were folded under her massive, and extremely uncomfortable looking, breasts and her slippered feet looked swollen as hell too. Her eyes shot daggers at her husband of two and a half years, and her lips were pursed into a thin, straight line.

Ruh roh.

"Hey Debs, sorry if I woke you." I said, standing slowly.

"Don't you dare apologize for being smart and keeping yourself safe. I'd have done the same if I was in your position." She pointed her chin at her husband, "it's this jerkoff who owes me an apology."

"Me?! What'd I do?!" He asked, eyes wide with a terrified expression on his face.

It was hilarious. He was over six feet tall, built like a linebacker and fought crime for a living. And was scared shitless of a pregnant woman in a robe and fuzzy pink slippers.

"Oh, you know what you did! I purposely left a piece of cheesecake out for when I got hungry in the middle of the night. And what did your selfish, greedy ass do? YOU ATE IT!"

Alcide stood and walked over to her, hands out in supplication. "Baby, there's a whole cake in the fridge. You know I'd never leave you hungry."

"I didn't want _cold_ cheesecake, I wanted the soft and warm piece I left out!"

"Wait, hold up." I said, one hand up, the other on my hip. "You tellin me that you stopped to _eat cake _before coming over to see if I was being raped and murdered?!"

Debbie swatted then yelled at him about being a shitty friend and I bitched him out for leaving me to rot while he ate his cake. His head swung back and forth between the two of us. Oh yeah, it sucked to be Alcide.

"Unghh..."

We all stopped to look down at the burglar who we'd all but forgotten about. Alcide, ever the competent cop, dropped one knee onto the guy's back and barked, "Don't fucking move. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

He continued with the creep's Miranda Rights but I tuned him out. It really bugged me that I couldn't remember where I'd seen the man before. Did he target me specifically or was it just a coincidence that he ended up in front of my house? And why ring the bell if he had a lock pick set to begin with? It just didn't make any sense.

Alcide finished Mirandizing him just as a squad car pulled up. Sometimes it was good to live so close to the precinct. Other times, like when drove down my block blasting their sirens in the middle of the night during finals week, not so much.

I didn't recognize either of the cops that got out of the car but they obviously knew Alcide and Debbie. After they exchanged quick pleasantries with Debs, Alcide filled them in on his discoveries. Then, they said their good nights to the Herveauxs and nodded at me. Since it was

late, and Alcide insisted on it, my statement was postponed for the next day. Officers Jones and Pryor hauled William T Compton up effortlessly and more of less dragged him down the stairs before throwing him into their squad car.

By the time the cops left, half of my block had woken up and were gathered outside my house. Debbie was smart to slip back into her house when she had the chance. I really hated nosy neighbors but, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and answered their questions as best as I could.

No, he didn't break in.

Yes, I was home alone. Again.

No, I didn't know him.

Yes, I was fine.

Yes, it was Alcide who came to my rescue.

Yes, I was still single.

No, I didn't want to meet any of their friends, male relatives, or coworkers.

And on and on it went. By the time I finally made my way back upstairs, I was so exhausted that I passed out the second my head hit the pillow.

* * *

I woke to chaos.

My house phone that I didn't even think anyone had the number to was ringing off the hook, my alarm was blaring that obnoxious garbage truck backing up sound, my cellphone was screaming that it was SEXY AND IT fucking KNEW IT, and some mother fucker was leaning on my doorbell. First things first, I rolled over to the side of my bed and slapped the snooze button on my alarm clock. Cracking open one eyelid, I did a quick sweep for the closest offender. No cell phone in sight but LMFAO was still wiggle wiggle wiggling away loudly somewhere in the room. Then I remembered slipping it into my pajama pant pocket last night and did another sweep. It was by my bedroom door and vibrating like my Hitachi Magic Wand was under it instead of a cellphone - I didn't know how I managed to miss it.

I climbed out of bed and staggered over to my pajama bottoms. I grabbed my cell, glanced at the display, _Gran calling, _and answered. "Mor-" wow, I sounded Marge Simpson. I cleared my throat and tried again, "Morning Gran."

Slipping into the discarded pants, I threw a thin cardigan on over my tank top, and made my way downstairs.

"Don't you 'Morning Gran' me, Sookie Stackhouse. I had to find out my only granddaughter was almost _murdered_ on the television!"

I almost missed a step and broke my ass falling down the stairs. "Wha-what?!" I gasped, grabbing the handrail.

"Sookie, open the door!" A man's voice yelled over the doorbell and my screeching house phone. He sounded suspiciously like my brother, which made absolutely no sense; Jason was hours away in DC.

"It's all over the news!" Gran exclaimed hysterically.

The house phone continued ringing and the asswhipe outside my door was still pounding away while also leaning on my goddamn doorbell.

"_What_ is all over the news, Gran?" I asked, frantically.

Quickly unlocking the bolts, I unhooked the security chain and threw open the door to find my brother's stormy face staring down at me. Behind him stood dozens of reporters, photographers and camera men with their heavy equipment. Beyond them, row upon row of news vans double and triple parked in front of my house stretching down the entire block. The second the reporters realized my door had opened, they began pushing their way past each other to shove microphones, cell phones, digital recorders, and cameras in my face.

The reporters bombarded me with questions shouted too quickly for me to even make out what was asked. The photographers took rapid fire shots of me that left me temporarily blinded, and I held my hand up to ward off the flashes.

Jason barreled his way through the sea of people who'd somehow managed to knock him off the front steps. After finally barging through the last two crowding the doorway, he quickly slammed the door shut and turned the locks. The doorbell began ringing almost immediately as fists began pounding angrily at my door.

Cell phone in my hand forgotten, I looked at my big brother with wide, terrified eyes and asked, "What, what's going on, Jase?"

Concern and worry written all over his face, my brother drew me into a hug and I felt my body begin to relax in increments. His hugs were magical and always managed to settle my nerves and ease my fears; they've been that way for as long as I could remember.

Hesitant to leave my cocoon of safety, but needing my questions answered, I sighed and pulled away from the hug.

Jason looked at me worriedly and lifted my chin up. After yanking it this way and that, and a thorough examination of my neck, something finally dawned on him. "You weren't attacked last night."

"What the fuck? Of course not!" I exclaimed. Then I heard a tinny voice yelling about washing my mouth out with soap and that's when I remembered the phone I was clutching in my left hand. "Gran! I'm so sorry, I forgot you were on the line. Can you hang on for just a sec? Wait. Here, talk to Jase while I deal with something real quick."

I handed my cell phone to my brother and ran to answer the house phone in the living room with Jason following suit.

Attacked last night? Was my life suddenly flipped on its ass because of William Compton? The thought made me red with fury as I angrily grabbed the blaring phone from its base.

"What?" I barked into the receiver.

"Hello, is this Ms. Sookie Stackhouse?" A woman responded.

"Who's askin?"

"This is Selah Pumphrey from the NY Post. I'd like to ask Ms. Stackhouse a few questions regarding her role in apprehending The Surgeon."

I covered the mouth piece and asked Jason, "The Post wants to know how I caught The Surgeon. The fuck is going on?"

Jason pointed his chin at the phone.

I nodded and muttered two words to Sheila Humpme or whatever the fuck her name was. "No comment," and slammed the phone back in its base.

It started ringing again almost immediately.

I needed as much peace and quiet as I could get for whatever was coming next, so I unplugged the phone. Then I ran back upstairs to my room and finally did what I should have done the moment I woke up; I yanked the fucking alarm clock's wire from the wall.

Oddly enough, that small act of aggression was enough to calm me down from my William Compton induced rage.

I glanced at my bed that was just screaming for me to climb back into, and climbed back down the stairs. My brother was leaning against the kitchen counter, fingers moving swiftly across his cell phone. He had just started a pot of coffee and I could hear the water boiling in the machine. I could've kissed him for that.

"You're still using this piece of shit?" He asked without looking up from whatever he was doing on his phone.

I yawned and took a seat at the island. "Don't hate on Mr Coffee, he gets the job done. That's all I ask for in a coffee maker and that's all I'll ever need."

He shook his head in disgust. "You don't know what you're missing."

My brother had become a coffee snob since my sister in law, Dawn, bought him one of those Keurig machines. I wasn't an idiot, I knew those K-cups tasted better than regular old Folgers but I'd rather save the money and splurge on something important. Like the pair of Alexander McQueen booties that I finally bit the bullet on and ordered a week ago as a reward for my acceptance into the senior fashion show. They were blue snakeskin booties and looked like motorcycle jackets for your feet. They were also one hundred percent bad ass and I couldn't wait to wear them out partying Saturday night.

That was a sobering thought. How long would it take for things to be normal again? Would I even be able to go in for my night shift at Merlotte's?

I cupped the mug of coffee with both hands and studied my brother. He must've left his house in a hurry because his shirt was inside out and he had a five o'clock shadow on his normally clean shaven face.

"You drove through the night?" I asked.

It was about a four hour drive from his place in DC to our home in Brooklyn. That meant he had to have hit the road around three in the morning. Things didn't add up. William Compton was in handcuffs around that time, there was no way news spread that quickly.

Jason was still leaning against the counter tapping away on his phone but looked up at that. "I caught a flight."

I nodded. That made more sense. "How are my nephews and nieces?"

His phone vibrated causing him to resume his busy typing. "Calvin's teething now, Crystal just had her first dance recital last week, and Corbett got suspended for punching a kid who pulled his sister's hair."

I chuckled at that. Corbett was secretly my favorite precisely because of how untamed he could get. His protective streak was just icing on the cake.

"Send me pics?"

My brother and his wife were crazy vigilant about keeping their kids' pictures off the internet. "You never know who's looking at them", they said. I thought it was a little overprotective but whatever; not my kids, not my business.

"Yeah, Dawn's already got your set printed. It should be in your mailbox by Monday." He finished doing whatever he was doing and slipped his phone in his pocket. "Alright, enough stalling. What the fuck happened last night?"

I stretched my legs and told him everything.

My brother looked thoughtful for a minute before saying, "Alcide's a good man."

I nodded, because there was nothing to add to that. Jason knew him for as long as I did. The only time my brother _didn't _like him was when Alcide and I dated briefly in high school. I was a freshman, he was a junior and Jason was pissed the fuck off. It was completely innocent; Alcide was truly a good guy - even then. We made out a lot and there might've been some light petting, but honest to God, that was all we did.

I didn't lose my virginity until prom night. Fucking cliché, I know, but I didn't date anyone seriously enough to get that far. By the time I knew where I was going for college and realized the odds of me getting laid at FIT were next to nil, I panicked and decided to just get it over with. It was, undoubtedly, one of the dumbest things I'd ever done.

Hoyt, Maxine Fortenberry's grandson, was the nicest guy in the entire school. And for as long as I could remember, he'd had a thing for me. He was tall, which was a must since I was five-eight, and had a really sweet smile. I thought he'd be the perfect guy to guide me into womanhood.

Well, it turned out he was a virgin too.

The night started out great; he'd gotten us a hotel room near the banquet hall and managed to score some alcohol. We made out like horny teenagers in between shots of cheap tequila and after a lot of fumbling and nervous laughter, we finally got naked and made it to the bed. He must've gotten really worked up from all the kissing and groping because after spending five minutes trying to put on a condom, he barely made it inside me before finishing. Yup, not even a full thrust. I was disappointed but tried not to make a big deal about it. Hoyt, understandably, was mortified and to this day still avoids me like the plague.

That was the first and last penis I'd ever had in me.

Though not for my friends' lack of trying. I'd been forced on everything from blind dates, speed dates, e-dates (hell, they'd have signed me up for J-date if I wasn't a gentile), but things just never progressed past a dinner or two. I had a short term goal, and men just weren't a priority. I was too focused on bettering myself to want to contribute time or effort into any semblance of a committed relationship. I also didn't want a fuck buddy or casual fling - if the experience with Hoyt taught me anything at all, it was that sex was overrated and not worth the headache. Besides, my Bag o' Vibes (an old satin pillowcase I'd sewn a drawstring to) contained plenty of goodies I've amassed over the years.

"You got fuckin' lucky." My brother said, snapping me out of my musings.

I tried to remember what we were talking about but floundered.

Thankfully, he continued, "Drew Marshall aka René Lenier, Victor Madden, Lochlan Neave and, most recently, William T Compton, was involved in a string of violent home invasions that went as far back as ten years ago. He scopes out his victims, all young and pretty waitresses, for weeks until he catches them alone at their homes. His M.O. is the same every time; rings their doorbells in the middle of the night and asks for help. He gets a sick buzz from speaking to his victims beforehand and luring them into a false sense of security when he leaves them unharmed. Then he sneaks back into their homes after they're asleep and injects a muscle relaxant into their bloodstream. They're awake and feel every sensation when he cuts them open and removes their uteri."

My hands flew to my mouth. "Did any of the women survive?"

"Most of them. Fucker calls 911 after he's done. The only casualty died of infections."

"How, how did they find out that he's the same guy?"

Jason cracked his neck. That was his tell that he was close to ripping someone's head off; usually someone who'd hurt me In some way. "His fingerprints. They also found a doctor's bag in his car five blocks away and two syringes of his drug of choice."

He walked over to me and pulled me into a hug. "Hey, hey, it's alright now Chipmunk." He said, stroking my hair.

I didn't realize how much I needed my big brother's comfort until then. Growing up without our parents, Jason took it upon himself to be both parent and sibling to me. Since he was thirteen years older, I idolized him and obeyed him without issue. His move out to DC was hard on me, but I understood it was something he had to do. He never talked about it, but I suspected he was working for the government either in the White House or at the CIA.

"I'm sorry for worrying everyone and for keeping you away from your work." I needed to call Gran back and let her know everything was alright.

"Don't worry about it. I should be the one apologizing - I never should've left you here by yourself. Mom and dad would-"

"Stop that shit. I'm a grown ass woman, I don't need my brother bending over backwards to accommodate me. You have your own family now and I'm no longer your responsibility, hell I never should've been your responsibility to begin with. Mom and dad would understand that and I know they're fucking proud of you for everything you've accomplished."

He shook his head, "you'll always be my family. And I'm moving back to New York by the end of June. We all are."

I gasped and then punched him in the arm. "What? No! Don't you fucking dare!"

Jason shrugged, "Too late. Dawn's already shopping for houses and Gran's already started packing."

"No, no, no, no, no... Don't uproot your entire life because some jack ass rang my bell in the middle of the night!"

"Sook, this isn't up for debate. You're my only sister and it'd have killed me if something happened to you."

"Corbett and Crystal already started school and all of the kids have friends!"

"Corbett hates the kids in his school, he calls them pussies." I swatted my brother for that. My nephew might've been a bad ass six year old, but he didn't curse. Or at least I didn't think so; I hadn't seen him since Christmas. "Crystal loves her aunt Sookie and Brooklyn pizza too much to care about her little dance troupe or school. Calvin doesn't remember he has to wear clothes half the time, much less his play dates at the park. Anything else?" He asked with a challenging lilt.

"There are no CIA offices in New York and it's not like they can just move the White House here either. How the hell are you gonna get to work?"

He grinned, "nice try,"

I groaned. "I'm serious. What are you gonna do about your job?"

Jason hesitated. "I'm taking another position at the company. It's more hands on, which is what I've always wanted, and I get more more freedom in my hours."

I took a sip of the lukewarm coffee and tried to suppress my glee. "Yeah? You're not just making shit up to placate me?"

"Dead ass serious. No lie."

Finally, the grin that I was holding back blossomed across my face and stretched my cheeks until they hurt. "Welcome home, bro."

"Never should've left." He grumbled.

* * *

While I called Gran back and spoke to her and Dawn to let them know I really was alright, Jason stepped outside to speak to the reporters. Apparently, he was drafting a press release with someone in the D.A.'s office the whole time he was on his phone. He said, hopefully it'd be enough to keep most of them off my ass but he warned me that I'd probably still get hounded for a while; everyone liked a story where the underdog wins, especially if she was a pretty blonde who out smarted a man wanted in over seven states.

After speaking to my family, I called my boss and told him I'd be unavailable to work that night and it that was unlikely to change in the foreseeable future. He was understanding of my plight but told me to go in anyway since I'd be giving his diner free publicity. I told him to fuck off and place an ad in the Daily News instead of being a cheap ass piece of shit.

Needless to say, I was fired.

Whatever, Merlotte's was where my troubles started and I knew I wouldn't miss it one bit; especially Sam Merlotte, my skeezy boss. Dude was about fifteen years older than all of the waitresses and was about one comment away from catching a class action sexual harassment suit.

My brother went with me to the police station to record my official statement. He cracked his neck the entire time we were there and gave every cop the stink eye. When I asked him about it later, he said someone from the precinct had to have leaked my info to the press. He said he was going to find out who, and I had a feeling the crooked cop's career was as good as over because one, my brother' sword was gold and two, you never fucked with his family.

The reporters seemed satisfied with the bone my brother threw them and cleared my yard by the time we got back from the precinct. Jason caught a flight back to DC later that afternoon and I promised to call him if anything happened in the interim. Everyone from Jade and her family to Lafayette and my FIT classmates to the second grade best friend, called me that day about the news. Apparently, if you weren't underage or sexually assaulted, your identity was fair game to the press.

Lafayette and I both agreed it was best to cancel our Saturday night club hop and opted to move the party to his apartment instead. Jade was coming back for the weekend and I was looking forward to spending some quality time with my two best friends in the comfort of Laf's home.

As I got ready for bed that night, I turned on the tv looking for news coverage of the case. It was the topic du jour for every major news outlet. I was lauded as a quick thinking Brooklynite, a modern day Joan of Arc, a heroine, but my favorite was the one where someone they interviewed said I was just a dumb blonde who was lucky her neighbor was a cop. I might not have agreed with the dumb part of the assessment, but everything else about that statement was true. I might've been just another number on his list of victims if I didn't have help.

The thought sent shivers down my spine and I slept fretfully that night even though I was exhausted and running on fumes. Finally, I focused my thoughts on the runway show and how proud my parents would've been if they were still alive. I worried about my lack of income and made another mental note to look for a roommate. I thought about my future in fashion now that graduation was only weeks away and felt slight trepidation, but mostly optimism and excitement. I pictured my future in ten years and for the first time since I knew I wanted to become a designer, I saw a man and children in it. That gave me pause. Did I want a husband and children? If they didn't interfere with my plans of running my own company. I didn't see how that was possible so I shrugged off the image for what it was, a silly impractical dream and fell asleep with thoughts of being at the helm of my own fashion empire - now that, I could believe.

* * *

**A/N: thanks for reading! **

**And I just wanted to ask, where the fuck is the plane?!**


	3. Chapter 3

******Chapter 3**

"Remember the log ride?" Jade breathed roughly, tears of mirth ruining the black eyeliner framing her gorgeous almond shaped eyes.

We were out on Lafayette's penthouse terrace sharing a stoge and catching up on lost time. Lafayette was lounging quietly in a chair; tumbler of fifty year old Scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, satin slippered feet kicked up over the railing. It was hard to reconcile this private Lafayette who was the epitome of everything his father represented and he hated, with the public Lafayette that he presented to the rest of the world everyday.

I was more shaken than I realized after the whole mess with The Surgeon. It was really humbling to know that my life could've been irreversibly changed by one simple text message. I spent all night tossing and turning and woke up at the crack of dawn. During my morning jog, I was intercepted by five photographers and two reporters hounding me with questions about my narrow brush at becoming The Surgeon's latest victim. By lunch, a small crowd had gathered outside my house. I was a prisoner in my own home and started feeling the early stages of a panic attack. It was around then that Jade pulled into my driveway with her mom's homemade pho.

Jade's been my best friend since junior high school and while we went our separate ways for college (she attended Brown University for computer science and could hack her way into any system), our friendship never wavered. It was just so easy to fall back into our old rhythm of telling silly stories and sharing our dreams of our futures every time we reconnected.

When Gran moved to DC during our freshman year in college, Jade's parents unofficially adopted me. They said, since their daughter and my family were both around 200 miles away and we were less than 5, it'd be just plain stupid if we didn't look after one another. In the beginning, I'd go whenever Jade was back during break or the weekends but gradually, Mrs. Fiore started calling me randomly to stop by for dinner. I'll admit, it was kind of weird at first and, unsure of whether or not I was crossing some sort of boundary, I spoke to Jade about it. She called me an idiot and said she'd be at Gran's in a heartbeat if our situations were reversed. My Gran's southern style meals were to die for, but Jade's mother was half-Chinese and half-Vietnamese and her father was Italian and both Mr. and Mrs. Fiore were amazing cooks. I loved when they had me over for dinner, but I valued their company even more. They gave me a glimpse of how life might have been like if my parents were still around and I was truly grateful to have them, and their daughter, in my life.

I downed the rest of my Gin and Tonic in one gulp and cackled, "How could I forget?" I turned to Lafayette and continued, "We were sixteen, at Six Flags and wearing these tiny bikini tops that barely covered anything at all and the shortest shorts we could find. We thought were hot shit and strutted around the place like obnoxious little jailbaits. Then we spotted a group of hot college guys by the log ride and got in line behind them. After some glaringly obvious peacocking on our part, they finally noticed us and started whispering to each other while looking our way." I took a drag of the cigarette and passed it back to Jade. "They shoved and snickered, and eventually, one guy, the hottest one of the group, stepped up to me and whispered,'your tampon string is hanging out.'"

Jade slapped her thigh and chortled, "You should have seen her face-" her amusement overtook her and she spent a good minute or two with her head thrown back, guffawing at my expense. Laughter truly was contagious because Lafayette and I were roaring with laughter right along with the silly bitch. After finally getting herself under control, she wiped her eyes - makeup now completely ruined - and wheezed, "her face, her face immediately turned red as a lobster. But you gotta hand it to her; instead of running away in mortification, she actually-" she took one look at me and started cracking up again.

I snatched the stoge from between her fingers and bumped her off the chaise. After taking a last drag of the menthol flavored cigarette, I snubbed it out in Laf's Swarovski ashtray and finished the story. "I thanked him kindly for his observation and climbed into the log." At Lafayette's appalled expression, I added, "What! We stood on line for over half an hour by that point, and besides, I readjusted myself while on the ride. Saved us a trip to the dirty ass bathroom and time we would've spent waiting in line."

Jade, who'd climbed back up from the floor and was sitting behind Laf on his chaise, nodded her head against his shoulder, and said, "She's nothing if not practical."

Lafayette, silent throughout the story, shook his head and said, "Practical my ass. Readjusting tampon strings in public is revolting no matter how you try to spin that shit. She could've traumatized and scarred someone for life." He looked me up and down with mock disgust. "I'm gonna have to reevaluate our friendship, you nasty ass heifer."

I quickly reached down into my jeans and pretended to touch my panties before hopping off my chaise. Holding my hand out like it was covered in shit, I ran over to the two of them and jumped onto their chaise. Lafayette tried to make a break for it but Jade, ever the astute partner in crime since we were eleven, wrapped her arms around his chest and held him still long enough for me to wipe my hand across his cheek.

If you want to know what sound a grown ass man makes when he's utterly horrified by something, do what I did and you'll discover that it's a cross between a five year old little girl's scream and an elephant's trumpet.

Lafayette threw Jade off with the quickness and made a mad dash for the bathroom. Fucking drama queen. God, I loved him.

Jade and I high fived each other and rolled around cackling like hyenas until we couldn't breathe. Lafayette came back out onto the terrace some time later, most likely after scrubbing his face clean, and cleared his throat.

We looked up.

He had changed out of his silk lounge pants and slippers and was wearing jeans, a grey henley, and boots. Arms crossed with disdain written all over his face, he looked down at us and sneered, "You two are the vilest bitches I've ever had the misfortune of loving. Get your beautiful asses up, We're leaving."

"Where are we going?" I asked, pulling myself and Jade up.

"Food," Lafayette clipped, then turned heel and went back inside.

It was a good thing I wanted to wear my new boots and came prepared instead of just bumming it in sweats like I'd originally intended. I had a black leather jacket on with a thin ribbed tank underneath, a pair of destroyed light blue skinny jeans that were ripped at the knees, my gold name plate necklace that Jase got me for my sixteenth birthday, gold double hooped earrings, an assortment of gold rings that I wore on both hands, and lastly, my Alexander McQueen blue snake skin biker booties. I looked pretty badass.

Jade had on a light pink blouse with soft ruffles down the deep v neckline that I made a mental note to borrow, white skinny jeans, silver accessories, a pair of baby pink scalloped peep toe pumps and a pink purse. With her lush brown hair up in a high bun, her gorgeous kohl lined brown eyes took center stage. She looked beautiful and also fucking sexy. Not the in your face tits and ass everywhere kind of sexy, the understated sultry kind whose sexiness quotient only increases the longer you observe her. And everyone knew that was the best kind.

We headed for the bathroom and spent some time on our makeup in there. Her eye liner needed to be wiped off and reapplied, while I borrowed some concealer to cover the under eye circles I'd acquired thanks to The Surgeon.

Sleepless nights were a bitch. I jumped at every little sound, and shadows scared the ever loving shit out of me now. I was never afraid of the dark, but my house has been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree the second the sun went down. I considered installing an alarm system but decided it'd be a waste of money since another person living in the house would most likely make me feel safer anyway; my subletter search was going well, I was going to be interviewing four potential candidates the next afternoon and had another two lined up for the day after that.

When Jade and I were nearly done, Lafayette called down to the concierge and requested a taxi. A cabby was already waiting for us outside by the time we got downstairs.

"53rd and 6th," Lafayette declared to the driver after climbing in.

"Ooh, the Halal Guys. I haven't had them since Thanksgiving break," Jade practically drooled.

It was one-thirty in the morning and traffic was lighter so we got there in record time. After Laf paid the cabby, we walked over to the food vendor and, even though it was late at night (or was it early morning?), stood in the short line. This didn't surprise me at all, people from all five boroughs - hell, even Jersey - came to these guys for their late night Mediterranean fix.

After getting our food and making sure to load up on the white sauce, we walked over to a nearby bench and dug in. I got the lamb over rice, Jade ordered a chicken gyro and Laf got his usual chicken and lamb over rice combo.

The lamb over rice was delicious. Tender and juicy pieces of marinated lamb meat, crisp lettuce and fresh pita covered in a thick layer of their special white sauce and a drizzle of hot sauce over yellow rice. It was also mammoth sized; more than enough to feed two people.

We finished our food, or rather, Jade finished her gyro but Laf and I still had leftovers - that was how freaking big our orders were - and tossed our wrappers and plates into the trash.

"Where to?" Jade asked, looking sated.

I checked the time on my phone; it was almost two. I grinned, still tipsy from the four Gin and Tonics I had earlier at Laf's, and said in a sing song voice, "We got two hours until last caaall."

Laf shook his head, "Nuh uh. No way. You're one drink away from going Sookie on us. We are too fuckin close to my hunting grounds and there is no way in _hell _I'm gonna be seen with you in public when you've Sookied."

He was exaggerating. Kind of.

"Psh, I'm a friendly drunk. _Everybody _loves friendly drunks." I said indignantly, arms crossed against my chest.

"You're a friendly drunk fifty percent of the time, babe. The other fifty, you turn green. As in Hulk green. I'm not in the mood to throw down tonight. Not after what happened last time."

"It wasn't my fault! The guy grabbed my ass, what the fuck did he expect to happen?"

"I'm not talking about the guy you kneed in the balls, that mofo deserved it. I'm talking about you picking a fight with the seven foot tall, four hundred pound bouncer! You know I got your back but dude, can you please choose someone closer to my size next time?"

Jade, who was watching this exchange with obvious amusement, asked, "Why'd you pick on the bouncer?"

"He was feeling up a woman who was clearly shitfaced." I replied, head held high.

She nodded. "That'll do it."

In the end, Lafayette caved and pulled out his cell to look for the closest bar near us on Yelp. While waiting, I reached into my bag and pulled out a tin of Altoids mints, popped two in my mouth and passed the rest around. After a few minutes of research, Laf settled for one within walking distance. Jade and I each grabbed an arm, sandwiched Laf between us, and tottered four blocks when Laf suddenly stopped and knocked in a 1-1-7 pattern on a nondescript black door.

Confused, I looked up and around but there wasn't a sign or anything to indicate that this was a bar. The only thing of note was an old school looking cast iron bell hanging on the wall beside the door.

Before I got to further examine the place, a slot in the door slid open and a pair of wary looking eyes peeped out at us.

"What do you want?" The man asked testily.

Laf bent to place himself at eye level with the probing eyes and responded cryptically, "Repeal the 18th Amendment."

Abruptly, the slot slid shut and the door creaked open.

Jade and I looked at each other, grinned, and followed Laf inside the speakeasy style bar.

The first thing I noticed was how quiet it was. Bars, as a rule, were rowdy places. There was chatter here too, it was only natural, but it was done in soft murmurs. The second thing I noticed was how dark it was. The ceiling, walls, and floor were done in dark wood paneling and the furniture was either black leather and dark wood, or red velvet and dark wood. Other than the candles placed on the tables in the lounge at the back and a handful of chandeliers (light bulbs dangling in haphazard patterns which could be considered as modern art or, you know, garbage) here and there, the only light source was at the bar.

Unlike the rest of the place, the wall behind the bar was red brick with wall insets. And in those niches were liquor, obviously, while candles that illuminated the bar and whomever stood behind it filled the smaller slots. Tonight, it was the big blonde bartender wearing black pants and a black dress shirt with the top buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up and held in place by silver armbands. He looked like a demonic angel, or something equally dichotomizing, as he chipped away a block of ice with an ice pick and flirted with two women at the bar.

"Jeezus, do people still do that?" I murmured, as we slipped through the dwindling crowd.

"Don't know, don't care. Why are you thinking about ice picks instead of the perfect male specimen wielding it?" Laf murmured back.

I looked at Jade, my ally in all things debatable, for her agreement.

She licked her lips, "You're on your own with this one girl, blondie is _fine_."

Jade and I slowly made our way over to a table in the lounge area while Laf went to order our first round of drinks. After sliding into a comfy red velvet love seat, we shrugged off our jackets and bags and looked around.

The owner was obviously going for a prohibition style bar vibe and definitely succeeded. From the creepy eyes through the door asking for a password to the dim lighting and dark decor, there was a noticeable air of intrigue and nostalgia that I found almost exciting. I half expected to hear coppers pounding on the front door demanding entrance.

"Hot guy, three o'clock." Jade whispered.

I leaned back and flipped my hair to the side, using the move as my cover to steal a glance in that direction. Holy hell, hot guy indeed. Shoulder length dirty blonde hair, kissable lips turned up in a grin, strong jaw line; he looked like Travis Fimmel during his Calvin Klein years.

"Remind me to thank Laf for finding this place." She continued to whisper.

"Oh yeah," I murmured in agreement.

The place was crawling with eye candy. One of which was headed our way.

Dark wavy hair cropped short, tanned skin, great fucking bone structure; the man was the reason Tall, Dark and Handsome was coined. He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans, Timberland boots, and an olive long sleeved tee that fit snugly against his heavily muscled frame.

"Ladies," he said in a deep baritone voice, "this seat taken?" He gestured towards the love seat across from us.

I opened my mouth to say it was, but Jade beat me to the punch and replied, "It just became vacant."

Okie dokie then.

His eyes crinkled at her words as he sat down. Up close, lines at the edge of his eyes became noticeable but it didn't detract from his good looks. It somehow made his five o'clock shadow and rugged look that much sexier, fitting and authentic as opposed to someone who purposely groomed themselves to achieve that look.

"I'm Tray," he said, extending his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Tray. I'm Jade and this is my girl Sookie." Jade replied, shaking his hand.

I shook his proffered hand and gave him a noncommittal smile. Some chitchat later, we learned that Tray was somewhat of a regular here. We shared that it was our first time there and that we, in fact, didn't even know the name of the bar.

To which he replied, "Northman's."

The conversation segued into our professions and Tray shared that he owned an auto body shop and splits his time between New York and California, where his other shop was. Jade and I told him a little about our studies. Well I said very little because one, I wasn't the interested party and two, guys had a tendency to zone out once I started talking about fashion. After showing an adequate amount of interest in Jade's computer science background for me to deem him worthy of my girl's time, I decided that I'd sat for an appropriate length of time, gave them both a warm smile, and stood.

"I'm gonna go check on Laf."

Jade, who looked like she was about to kiss me, nodded.

After a detour to the bathroom, I made my way over to the bar, feeling eyes on me the entire time. It was disconcerting, and I surveyed my surroundings but didn't see anyone looking at me.

About five feet away from Laf, a deep voice murmured in my ear, "Can I buy you a drink?"

I turned and stared into the deep green eyes of the Travis Fimmel lookalike.

Taking a step back, I shook my head and replied, "Thanks, but my friend's already getting my drink."

"The next one then?" He asked, a boyish grin on his face.

My knee jerk reaction of a rejection was on the tip of my tongue, but then I considered the question - perhaps more pensively than necessary. After four years of single-minded, dogged determination, in two weeks I was finally graduating with the Bachelors of Fine Arts degree I worked my ass off for.

That meant I was now free.

Reassessing my priorities, I gave him another once over. Tall, six-foot-two give or take an inch or so, deep green eyes, great jaw line, and full firm lips. He wore a light blue dress shirt (mostly unbuttoned and untucked) over a plain white tee, jeans and a pair of white chucks. He was beautiful. Unfortunately, too beautiful for my taste; I liked my men a little rough and with more man and less pretty.

I guessed I was taking a little too long to respond because he worked his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that I found endearing.

It also cemented my answer.

I winked, replied, "If you're still around," and walked over to Laf whose back was to me and was chatting with a pretty brunette.

Boobs thrust out, one hand placed suggestively over her cleavage, the other on his chest. Her eyes were slightly closed in that bedroomy way, her plump red lips were lifted in a seductive smirk. Her body language screamed that she wanted him, and she wanted him _now._ Too bad, so sad. He'd never reciprocate those feelings, babe.

Lafayette's body, on the other hand, was coiled tightly and leaning away from her. He looked extremely uncomfortable. Never one to lead a woman on, I was betting she was either too dense to get his hints or just straight up chose to ignore them.

I closed in on them and looped my arm through his. Tilting my head to look at him, I asked, "Who's this, hon?"

Relief flashed across his face before he pulled me in closer to his body and kissed my temple.

"Baby, meet Lorena. Lorena, this is Sookie."

The brunette's face flushed with embarrassment and I suddenly felt like Regina George from Mean Girls.

Lafayette must've been on the same page as me because he leaned towards Lorena and placed a hand on her arm effeminately. In all the years I'd known him, outside of joking around with me or Jade, I'd never seen him be anything other than how he was - which was masculine to the nth degree.

He leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorially, "We're attending FIT together."

Bless his heart.

The light finally dawned in Lorena's eyes and I swear, her face twisted a second before the nastiest smirk appeared on her face.

She opened her mouth, but before she could spew whatever hate she was undoubtedly close to diarrheaing out of her second asshole, the bartender leaned across the bar and inches from my face, he asked with a slight, indiscernible accent, "What can I get you, Gorgeous?"

Saved by the bartender. I gave him a grateful smile then tugged on Laf's arm and turned him with me to face the bar.

"Did you order the drinks yet, Laf?"

He dislodged my hand from his and threw his arm over my shoulders. Looking over our shoulders, he replied, "Not yet. That chick was like a goddamn pitbull with a bone."

"You've been standing here talking to her this whole time?" I asked, incredulously.

It had to have been a good twenty minutes or so since we got here. Hell, my buzz was all but gone.

Laf looked at me and muttered, "Pit. Bull."

"I'll bet. Alright, first round's on me. And don't expect to see Jade until last call."

I loved my girl to death, but she was more than a little boy crazy.

He nodded sagely, "Hot guy. Got it."

I turned towards the bartender, who was watching our exchange with open amusement, and smiled.

"We'll have whatever you recommend, Handsome." I said, and hopped onto a black leather stool.

I took the opportunity to check him out again. Tousled hair, electric blue eyes, unshaven face; he _was_ really good looking and the whole rolled up sleeves, open collar bad boy thing he had going on really worked for him. Judging by the amount of women I glimpsed flirting with him and hanging around him since I got there (three batting their lashes and trying to get his attention at that very moment), and the fact that he was obviously reciprocating the flirting, I'd say he probably saw a lot of action after his shifts.

He inclined his head and murmured, "As you wish."

My head jerked up to look at him. I was a sucker for The Princess Bride references.

At my reaction, the corner of his mouth raised slightly.

Smug bastard. I wondered how many women he used that line on.

Lips pursed, I smiled at him indulgently and shook my head.

Laf and I went over our schedule for Wednesday's BFA fashion show and decided that I'd sleep over his place on Tuesday night that way I'd have plenty of time to get to school and prep the next day. He confirmed that he and Andre, one of the guys he was seeing, would drop by the show early to do my makeup and help out as much as they could. He also confirmed that the lounge for the after party was booked and accommodations (bottles and private section) would be made for our large group.

At that, the bartender returned with our drinks which I then paid and tipped him for; one in a martini glass and a darker one in a tumbler. He stayed planted in the spot and raised an eyebrow, gesturing for us to try them.

Lafayette took a swig of his amber hued drink and nodded his approval.

"Whiskey old fashioned." He surmised. "With a little something extra. What is it?"

The bartender grinned. "Replaced the usual teaspoon of sugar with a tablespoon of pure maple syrup."

He then looked at me expectantly.

I took a sip of my champagne colored drink. Sour and minty, and I definitely tasted gin; I had no idea what it was.

It also wasn't life altering or all that great, to be honest. The only mint I liked in my drinks were in a Mint Julep. Hell, I barely tolerated Mojitos and those were the shit.

In the end, I settled for, "It's... interesting."

This made him smile for some reason, and he extended his hand, "Eric." He glanced at my chest and asked, "Sookie a nickname?"

I was about to ask how he knew my name when I remembered the name plate necklace I was wearing. Instead, I shook his hand and replied, "Hey Eric, and nope it's my legal name. My parents had a sense of humor."

"One of a kind, like its owner." I didn't know whether to blush or gag at the amount of cheese he was dishing. "Never seen you here before."

"First time here." I replied, taking another sip. Damn, that was going to be the last time I left my drink up to a bartender.

Eric stuck out his hand for Lafayette to shake and leaned in to murmur, "Lorena doesn't take rejection well. Watch my back, I were you."

That put me on alert and I immediately began sweeping the bar for the crazy brunette. She was gone.

Laf and I sat around, shooting the breeze. My drink was still almost untouched by the time he was done with his. Never one to waste, I held the thin straw to the side with my pointer and downed the drink in three gulps. I must've made a funny face because Laf laughed and called me a light weight.

The second I placed my empty glass on the bar top, a shadow descended upon my left side. I looked up to find none other than the pretty boy from earlier.

"I'm still around." He grinned.

I shook my head and laughed at his adorable persistence.

"So what'll it be?" He asked.

It was at this point that I realized I didn't even know his name.

"I'm Sookie and this is my friend Lafayette."

He ran his fingers through his hair then extended his right hand. "Alex," then he muttered to himself, "I can't believe I forgot that step."

This had my hackles raising. Was he seriously following some sort of macking handbook? Why an obviously good looking guy needed one was beyond me, but the fact that he did lowered his rating on the scale from _Too Pretty but Sweet_ down to _Serious Sleezeball._

"Listen, Laf already got our orders in so maybe next time, yeah?" I said dismissively, hoping he'd get the point and just vamoose.

To my dismay, confusion clouded his face and instead of taking a hike, his eyebrows furrowed as he asked, "But I didn't see him place an order."

My back straightened and I glanced at Lafayette for help. This guy either lead an extremely sheltered life or was clueless as hell about women, body language, or hell, plain English.

Suddenly, two bottles of Fat Tires plopped down in front of us. I looked up to find Eric standing there with a cross between amusement, embarrassment and... pity on his face.

"Your beers." He announced. Although unnecessary, it was still appreciated.

"Hey, big bro. Let me get one of those too." Alex said.

They were brothers? I did a double take. Both blonde, tall, same build but that wasn't really saying much since they had nothing else physically in common.

Eric reached under the bar and pulled out another beer. After opening it, he handed it to his brother and locked eyes with him. A few seconds of some sort of secret guy/brother silent exchange later, Alex's cheeks flamed and he ran a hand through his hair again.

I tensed when Alex leaned down and said quietly into my ear, "I'm sorry I was an ass."

At the same time, Eric pulled Laf into a conversation with another group of customers.

I looked at Alex and studied him. He really did look contrite and judging by the redness still on his ears, he was also humiliated.

My body relaxed.

"You weren't an ass." At his look of disbelief, I continued, "You _weren't_ an ass. Persistent to the point of borderline creepy, yes. An ass, no."

He plopped down in the stool next to me and nursed his beer dejectedly. "I've never done this before."

"Done what?" I asked, confused.

"The bar scene." He waved his hands around. "Any scene. I've been with the same girl since I was seventeen." Then, silently and with so much anguish I could've sworn the words were ripped straight from his heart, he said, "I just found out that she's been cheating on me with one of my boys."

Well, fuck.

I placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Look on the bright side."

He lifted his chin from the bar top and glanced at me.

"You found out before you married her."

His head plopped back down.

"You're young, hot, and very sweet. There are plenty of women out there who would consider themselves lucky to have that kind of devotion from you."

He shrugged.

Jeezus, I was horrible at this.

"You're free now. Not tied down by anyone. Your options are wide open. You could pick and choose from the entire female dating population of New York - hell, the world if you're into traveling. Imagine all the possibilities. All the women just waiting for the opportunity to meet you." Thinking I was onto something, I continued enthusiastically, "Maybe, maybe it was fate. Destiny. Predetermined. That your heart would get broken by such a callous bitch. I mean, if you've never experienced heartache or been through the lowest of lows, maybe you wouldn't be able to appreciate or recognize the highest of highs - meeting _the one_, falling in love again. _Learning_ to love again. I mean that in itself is amazing. But this time with the right woman." I nodded and continued with conviction, "A woman who will love, cherish and adore you and everything you've got to give. A woman who will handle your heart with care and who understands that your love is a precious gift, not something taken and tossed aside ruthlessly."

His posture didn't change at all throughout my spiel.

I sighed and tried a different tactic. "You're also free to sleep around."

His head turned to look at me.

My shoulders slumped. "Have sex with all kinds of women."

He pushed his body off the counter.

I lowered my head to look at my lap. "Different chick every night."

He sat up straight.

I folded my arms on the counter and placed my head on them. "I know where you can meet models and regular chicks who just want casual sex."

And at this, he grinned his adorable boyish grin and asked, "Where?"

I sighed. Another good guy lost to the brotherhood of players thanks to a heartless woman.

Closing my eyes, I mumbled, "My school is having a fashion show on Wednesday. Plenty of models and a student body comprised of 85% females. I'm sure you'll leave with at least half a dozen numbers of women who want the same thing as you." I turned my head to look at him, "But make sure they know you're not looking for anything serious. There are plenty of women into casual sex, you don't need to go breaking any hearts. That's just cruel."

He nodded enthusiastically and handed me his phone. After programming my contact info into his phone, and him forcing a promise out of me to introduce him to like-minded women (and I knew more than a few who'd totally jump his bones, no strings attached), I took him up on his earlier offer of a drink and got two shots of tequila too. Two shots lead to three, and before I knew it, I was past buzzed and tiptoeing the line to drunk.

Sufficiently lubricated, my mood took a turn for the better. See? Totally a happy drunk.

That's why I didn't hesitate to answer when a woman sat down in the seat Alex vacated and asked, "Sookie Stackhouse?"

"That's me." I grinned.

It's why I also didn't see the glint in her eyes when she asked, "You live in Bensonhurst, right?"

"Yup," I replied, popping the P and taking a sip of my Apple Martini.

It was soo good.

So I took another sip, and another sip, and another. Next thing I knew, the nice lady was buying me a shot of whiskey and a Long Island Iced Tea as a chaser.

"Don't you have a brother named Jason?"

"I sure do."

"And your parents are Corbett and Michelle, right?"

It still didn't penetrate that a woman I didn't know was asking me some extremely personal questions.

"They were," I replied, happily taking a pull of the delicious drink.

"Were?" She asked.

"They're dead now. Car accident, DOA." I gulped down another mouthful.

I also didn't see the triumphant smile on her face. But Eric, who observed our exchange with a watchful eye, did and went to get Lafayette.

"Oh, that's terrible! I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Don't worry about it, babe. They've been dead since I was two. Can't miss something you don't remember having, right?" I grinned and took another long pull through the straw.

"That's a great way to look at it. So, are you dating anyone now?"

"Nope," I replied, popping the P, just as Laf sidled up next to me.

"Hi, I'm Lafayette Reynolds, Sookie's best friend. And you are?"

I realized I didn't have a clue what her name was so I turned to look at her.

She laughed nervously. "I'm Selah. Selah Pumphrey."

"That name sounds familiar. And pretty." I piped.

"And how do you know Sookie?" He asked.

Eric must've been curious too because he crossed his arms against his chest and stood planted in front of us.

"We've chatted before."

"Oh? Sook, do you know Ms. Humphrey?" Laf turned to me and asked.

Then, I remembered.

So I threw my hands joyously in the air and yelled, "Sheila Humpme!"

A hush descended upon the bar but I was too out of it to notice.

"She's the reporter who kept hounding me the morning after The Surgeon almost stole my uterus!" I continued loudly.

That's when Eric's deep, threatening voice ordered, "Think you should leave now."

I looked up to see if he was talking to me. Nope, his glacial blue eyes were aimed at Sheila. Yay me for not getting kicked out of a bar again! I took another sip to celebrate my small victory.

"I think I'll stay right here." She retorted.

Ooh... Bad move. Even I knew it because Eric's face and posture went from tense to straight up pissed the fuck off.

Leaning across the counter, he placed his face directly in front of hers and said slowly, dragging out the words but enunciating them so clearly an idiot would understand, "Get. The fuck. Out."

Sheila was one stubborn chica because her ass stayed planted in the stool next to mine. "No."

Uh oh. I knew what was coming next because it's happened to me more times than I cared to remember.

Eric looked across the bar to the door where a bouncer was, drew back his lips and whistled loudly through his teeth.

The bouncer crossed the bar in long strides and looked questioningly at Eric.

By then, everyone who was still there had gathered around at the bar to watch the show so _everyone_ heard Eric when he pointed his chin at Sheila and declared, "Want her banned."

I thought back to the bars I was kicked out of. Nope, I've never been banned anywhere for life. Another small victory, so I took another sip.

The big guy nodded, tugged Sheila out of her seat and began pulling her towards the exit. She put up a hell of a fight; screaming, clawing, kicking. He ended up carrying her ass out.

The second the door slammed shut, I let loose a giggle. Jade, Tray, Laf, Alex and Eric all looked at me like I was crazy.

I shrugged and with an enormous smile on my face, I said, "I'm just glad it wasn't me," and took another sip.

* * *

**A/N: I got impatient.. So our girl gets to meet Eric a few days earlier than planned.. Bad Salmon, bad!**

**Thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting!**

**pics are up in my profile, as usual. You ladies might find Tray particularly delicious; who doesn't love half nekkid pics of David Gandy? Not me!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

I was lying on the bed in Lafayette's guest room, wide awake at four in the morning, when my cell pinged with a new text alert. I'd been tossing and turning for the past three hours trying not to think about the sounds I thought I heard coming from outside of the room. I wasn't sure how I felt about this new development; that I was jumpy even with someone in the next room, so the distraction was more than welcomed.

_You up?_

It was from Alex. Tonight would be the fourth night in a row where he drunk texted me. If history repeated itself, which I'd bet my autographed Breakfast at Tiffany's poster it would, he would tell me that he just got laid. The texts would then veer into the topic of his ex, whom I now knew more about than my own ex, and he'd lament about his lost love and how empty he now felt until one of us fell asleep.

_Yup, what's up?_

_In a cab heading home_

_You had fun tonight?_

_I guess_

He immediately continued with, _Am I a dick for thinking these chicks are all starting to look alike?_

I thought about how to answer that.

Truth was, I doubted the women found him all that memorable either if they did this as often as he did. He'd be just another good looking guy they had a good time with. I didn't think there was anything wrong with that lifestyle and even though it wasn't for me, I could certainly see the appeal of it.

_Not my place to judge._

A beat later, _I bumped into them today_

Fuck.

His cunt ex Hadley and piece of shit ex-friend Remy decided to make their affair official after the breakup. It didn't hurt either of them since everyone in their circle of friends already knew about what was going on behind Alex's back. In essence, when he broke up and lost his cheating whore of an ex, he also lost all the boys he thought had his back since college.

Relationships were brutal.

I flopped onto my belly and typed, _Tell me about it._

_Was at Seaport with big bro scoping out new spot for his next bar. E stopped walking, cursed and turned us the other way_

Well, shiet.

Alex told me a lot about his childhood and relationship with his brothers over the last couple of nights too. Eric was the oldest at 28, then came Alex at 24, and Godric the youngest Northman brother was only 10. His family was originally from Sweden but immigrated to America when Alex was 7. His parents and Godric still lived in Southern California but Alex followed his big brother to New York after he got accepted into NYU.

One thing I gleamed from our chats was how protective his big bro was of him. Eric packed all of Hadley's shit and dropped the boxes off at the Salvation Army the second he found out what happened. He also took a bat and beat the shit out of Remy's car that same night. Alex's "boys" also knew not to go anywhere near Northman's after Eric personally tossed one of them out of the bar.

I waited, knowing he wasn't done.

A minute later, I received the continuation of the story.

_We were already walking away when she called my name_

Cunt, whore, succubus, fucking heartless bitch. God, I never hated a woman as much as I hated her - and I didn't even know her!

He continued, _I froze. Just fucking froze. My bro kept pushing me but I couldn't even fucking move... _

_- __I thought I was over her but God, just her fucking voice was enough to paralyze me_

Damn. That Hadley chick had to be one dumb broad to give up a man so in love with her.

He texted again, _I only unfroze to hold my bro back when he made a move to swing at Remy_

_Are you guys alright?_

_Yeah, they dipped the second they realized E wasn't fucking around. _

_- __You wanna hear something crazy?_

_What?_

_she told me to call her_

_Wtf? Why?_

_Don't know, don't care_

_You gonna do it?_

_Do I look like a masochist?_

_Idk, never met anyone who introd themselves as "Hi, I'm _, the Masochist."_

_You're fucking funny, you know that?_

_Thank you. Thank you. I aim to please._

It was about ten minutes before he texted again, by that point I was already half asleep.

_How do I stop it?_

_Stop what?_

_The pain_

I sighed, feeling sorrow for my new friend. I'd never experienced heartbreak first _or _secondhand and had no clue how to go about healing a broken heart.

_I don't know, buddy. Maybe you just wake up one day and it doesn't hurt anymore._

Then I added in a second text, _It takes time, but I promise it'll get better._

I had no idea if that was true but it seemed like the right thing to say.

_Then time needs to speed the fuck up. I'm done feeling like shit_

_Go to sleep. The hangover you'll feel in the morning will make this feel like nothing._

_Great, something else to look forward to_

_You still coming to the show later?_ I felt it pertinent to ask.

_I'll be there. Models and bottles, what guy could resist? ;)_

I chuckled. _Pop an ibuprofen before you ass out and down a glass of water._

_Yes, mother_

_Good boy. Now, sleep. I'll see you later._

_Night_

* * *

"Are you sure this isn't too much?" I asked André's reflection in the mirror.

He had just spent the last twenty minutes applying my makeup and, if I was honest with myself, it looked amazing, albeit heavier than I was used to.

"Oui. You look fabulous, ma chérie."

I grinned. "Thanks for doing this, André. I owe you one."

"De rien," he waved his hand dismissively and packed up his makeup kit.

As promised, Lafayette and André had arrived half an hour before the show. I'd already touched base with my model, Thalia, confirmed the lineup, and made sure the gown and accessories were where they were supposed to be. Everything that needed to be done was done, so I led André out to where the guests were. Spotting Lafayette and Alex in the front row reserved for designers and their guests, André and I made our way over to them and took our seats.

Thus began the waiting game.

One by one, models wearing the designs of Knitwear, Sportswear, Children's Wear (they received the loudest applause), Intimate Apparel, and finally, Special Occasion strutted down the runway. I reached for Laf's hand and squeezed when Thalia appeared in my creation. Her raven locks and sultry looks were a perfect fit for my silk and tulle hand painted gown. It was strapless with delicately beaded embroidery and a tulle overlay starting from the thigh down. White bustier, gradually faded into a medium blue grey at the full fishtail tulle skirt, it was a gown for the badass bride who wasn't willing to sacrifice her personality for a traditional white dress.

It took months of sleepless nights and countless bloodied fingertips to complete, but the sense of pride and accomplishment I felt at seeing it on the runway made every second of the grueling process worth it.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The cummulation of four years of hard work on display but for a few hard earned seconds, and I almost cried in relief.

I didn't cry when the handful of names for the critic's choice awards were announced and mine was called. Head held high but shaking inside, I walked up to received my trophy.

I didn't cry when Ms. Ravenscroft, proud smile on her face, handed me the block of glass shaped like a raw Quartz and murmured, "You've more than earned this,"

I didn't cry when, throat tight with emotion, I swallowed thickly and responded with a whispered, "Thank you,"

Nor did I cry when I turned to climb onto the end of the stage where Thalia, still in my gown, stood waiting for me. Her face, beamed with genuine happiness for me, and her beauty increased tenfold. My eyes immediately slid to Alex. He too, seemed to have noticed because he was gazing at her with something akin to awe on his face. Making a mental note to introduce the two of them later, I grinned and held out my hand to her.

Hand in hand, we strutted (or rather, Thalia strutted while I focused on not tripping) down the length of the catwalk where I paused to take my bow. The room erupted in applause and my eyes scanned the front row for my friends. Lafayette was holding his iPhone to me; I looked and saw my entire family jumping with joy on FaceTime. My heart warmed, and that's when the tears I stubbornly held back began to fall. I waved at my loved ones, and hand still grasping Thalia's, we turned and concluded our walk.

* * *

"To new beginnings!" Lafayette, flute of champagne lifted in the air, shouted jovially.

I, along with twenty of our closest classmates and friends, and a handful of the models involved in the show, lifted our glasses and cheered in response.

My phone rang and I wasn't surprised to see it was Jade calling. She couldn't make it to the show since her semester wasn't ending for another two weeks, but I knew she caught the video stream online. I signaled to Laf that I was taking a call, and stepped into the ladies rooom.

"Critic's choice, baby!" Jade shouted through the phone.

I laughed and fixed a strand of hair in the mirror, "I know! How crazy was that?"

"I didn't doubt you for a second. Oh, Ma and Dad wanted to take you out for a celebratory dinner this weekend. Can you squeeze us in, Ms. Hotshot Designer?"

My eyes flitted towards the back of a woman who just entered a stall. Thinking she looked kind of familiar, I brushed it off and replied, "It's really not that big of a deal. I'll be more than happy with a plate of your dad's chicken parm."

And I was being completely honest. Mr. Fiore's Chicken Parmesan was better than any I'd ever tasted, store bought or home cooked. And being a Bensonhurst girl, born and raised, that was saying a lot.

"Don't you dare. I've been wanting to try this new fusion restaurant in Williamsburg for months, you are not ruining it for me." She warned.

"What, Tray doesn't eat?" I teased.

"I wouldn't know! He hasn't called me since dropping me off at Laf's the next morning."

I nibbled my lip. That didn't sound good.

"Maybe he's been busy?"

"Too busy to send a five second text? I highly doubt it."

"Maybe he lost his phone." I offered hopefully.

"Or maybe he just isn't into me. I'm a big girl, I can deal. It's his loss anyway."

She didn't sound upset about it, but it had to have stung. Jade was into the occasional one night stand when the mood struck her, but Tray was more than that. It was obvious in the way she looked at him. I'd have thought he felt the same because he looked at her the same way. It wasn't lust, although there was a healthy dose of that too; it was fascination, curiosity and... hope.

But maybe I thought wrong.

"Did you try texting him?"

Yeah, it was stupid and probably broke every dating rule book out there, but when it came to matters of the heart, rules were meant to be broken. Or at least that's what I surmised.

She hesitated, then spoke so quietly I had to strain to hear her, "I thought he liked me, you know?"

I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "I know sweetie. I thought he did too."

"We stayed up all night just talking. Talking! Can you believe it? I've _never_ done that with a guy before." She sighed, "I thought the connection was there. I mean, who the hell listens to a woman ramble on and on about her boring childhood, her love of all things tech and geeky, and _not_ be into her?"

I wanted to agree but then I thought back to the last four nights of texting back and forth with Alex. I didn't have any feelings for him. At all. Call it self preservation or whatever, but the fact that he was crying on my shoulder over another woman killed any romantic notions I might've had for him. And there were none to begin with; he just wasn't my type.

I also knew for a fact that he wasn't into me that way, either. I mean, he was initially but after being shot down and subsequently breaking down at his brother's bar, his man card probably mandated my removal from the _female with potential _pool. I became a stand in for the friends he lost. Just another sympathetic ear.

Purely platonic relationships were the bomb. Jade and Tray though, there was nothing platonic about their chemistry. It was so palpable that Helen Keller would have sensed it.

So I replied, "He was definitely into you. Which is why I'm abusing my best friend privilege and ordering you to contact him. A simple text will do."

She groaned and called me a colorful name which I simply did not agree with. Bitch? Yes. A conniving one? Nope.

Staring into the mirror, I swept my hair back and fixed a smudge in my eyeliner. "Listen, I have to get back to the party. Call me the second he texts you back, alright? Love you!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Love you too, bye," she replied before disconnecting.

I cast one last look at my reflection, belatedly thinking the woman was inside the stall for a long ass time, and rejoined my friends.

* * *

As parties were won't to do when a large group of college aged kids and substantial amounts of alcohol were involved, ours spiraled quickly out of control and before we knew it, we were asked to leave.

Our group splintered as some people left to go home while others continued their wild partying at clubs and bars. My group, which included Laf and André, Alex and Thalia, two models by the names of Jessica and Palomina (yes, her parents named her after a horse! We drank to commiserate; it wasn't everyday you encountered a kindred spirit), and myself were done partying but wanted to continue drinking. So, we walked the five blocks to Eric's bar.

The girls were impressed that the bouncers knew Alex by name. They were even more impressed when he stepped behind the bar to serve our drinks. Eric, I noticed, was watching his brother with an indulgent smile. He caught my eye and tipped his head in gratitude. With a silly, inebriated grin, I shook my head and continued my conversation with Laf and André.

Beneath his laughter and boyish grins, Alex's pain was evident to anyone who bothered to look. Thalia, I noticed, cottoned onto this fact and with her cautious glances, seemed almost concerned for him. Jessica and Palomina however, were oblivious to everything other than the brothers' charms, and by the end of the night, it became obvious that they would be going home with them.

Thalia looked disappointed. I secretly hoped that she wouldn't hold this against him and that she'd be willing to explore something further with him when he was ready. I knew it was a crapshoot though; someone that beautiful, inside and out, would get snatched by the first man with half a brain.

* * *

**A/N: _It's just a jump to the left, and then a step to the right. Put your hands on your hips, and bend your knees in tight. But it's the pelvic thrust! That really drives you insaaaane! Let's do THE TIME WARP again!_ **

**Next chapter will jump into the future.**

**Pics in profile, as usual :)**

**thanks for reading, reviewing, favoring!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It's been almost a year since I'd met and befriended Alex. To say I've grown extremely fond of him would be a profound understatement. He was my best friend. One of three. And even though he was a year older than me, I felt protective of him. It probably had to do with how tormented he was by his ex's betrayal when I first met him; it brought out the nurturer in me. That's why it killed me to see him the way he was now.

What started as a man with a broken heart nursing a beer over his woes became a man drowning his sorrows in a different warm body every night, which he grew out of but quickly returned to. That phase lasted until about two months ago when I noticed a change in him. It was gradual and took me weeks longer than it should have, and for that I was sorry.

He became paranoid about everything and everyone, constantly worrying that there was some sort of Machiavellian plot against him. He also became quiet, introspective and withdrawn; his old sunny disposition, easy smile, all but gone. He disappeared for days on end, calling neither his brother nor me; re-emerging only when he ran out of money. He also became confrontational, testy and took offense to the slightest things. When he became progressively more aggressive and verbally abusive, I began dreading his calls. Suddenly, I found myself making excuses for why I couldn't hang out and let more and more of his calls go to voicemail,

Instead of recognizing the signs as what they were - a drowning man desperately trying to stay afloat - I avoided him and gave him less and less of my time. And for that, I was even more sorry.

* * *

**February 3, 2014**

"Babe, can you pass me my phone?" I mumbled groggily to Preston Pardloe, my fiancé.

God, it still felt weird calling him that. We met one gorgeous Saturday afternoon in July. He was tossing a football back and forth with his friends, I was having an impromptu picnic with mine, when he knocked me over on my ass. After blinking away the stars, I looked up to find a pair of tawny eyes staring apologetically down at me. Dark chocolate colored hair, a strong nose, and full lips; he was very handsome. But it didn't change the fact that he knocked me on my ass, so I reamed him a new one. He apologized over dinner and drinks, and after six months together, he proposed at the same spot we met in Central Park.

We've been engaged for less than two weeks and alternated between his condo in the city and my house in Brooklyn. Though lately, we did end up staying over at his place more often than mine. He said his was a closer commute to work, and although it was true, I had a nagging suspicion that he found Brooklyn, and my 'hood more specifically, to be low rent due to the recent influx of immigrants. If that turned out to be the case then he was in for the surprise of a lifetime, because I never planned on moving out of the house where my parents spent their happiest moments together.

"It's just going to be Alex," he grumbled, "I don't know why you haven't cut the loser out of your life yet, Susannah."

Here we go again, I thought with a sigh.

I rolled to the right side of the bed, which he somehow always managed to maneuver me out of because he liked sleeping on that side as well. "He's my friend. One of my _best _friends. You don't abandon your best friend when they need you the most. And for the last time, can you please not call him that? I never disrespect your friends in front of you, is it so much to ask that you show the same modicum of respect for me?"

"It is when said friend only calls your fiancée to cry about his pathetic excuse for a life or when he needs to borrow money from her. Which he never returns, might I add."

Ignoring him, I grabbed my phone off of the nightstand, climbed back over to the left side of the bed, and sat up. "Hey, Alex. Is everything alright?"

"I'm sorry for calling so late. I, I can't sleep. Is it alright if you stayed on the phone with me for awhile? Just, just for a few minutes?" He whispered, frantically.

God, he sounded so broken. Hadley, his ex, was truly the gift that kept on giving. He started to get over her about two months after we met. He even started seeing Thalia seriously and stopped fucking around. Then, in July, Hadley showed up at his apartment in tears; she was three months pregnant and said she didn't know who the father was. Remy kicked her out (which made no sense to me since he knew she was dating Alex when he slept with her) and she had nowhere to go. Alex was torn. He was finally happy again and found a woman he wanted to explore the possibilities of a future with. Thalia adored him and we all adored _her_ for bringing him back to life.

But Alex was a good guy - a responsible one who always did the right thing. Against his brother's wishes, he took Hadley into the apartment he shared with Eric and broke things off with Thalia. Two months later, Hadley got an abortion and went back to Remy, obliterating whatever remnants of Alex's already broken heart she'd left behind the first time. Uncertain of whether the baby was his or not, Alex not only mourned for his lost love, but for the promise of what might have been as well.*

I slipped out of bed and, after putting on a thin cardigan, made my way down the hall to Preston's guest room. "Of course I can,"

Immediately turning on the light to the room, I closed the door and sat on the foot of the bed.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, repeating my earlier question.

I heard what sounded like the drag of a cigarette, then a long, shaky exhale.

There was nothing but silence, and I patiently waited and allowed him the time to collect his thoughts.

Then, finally, he whispered, "It would've been a month old today."

My breath caught.

"Oh, sweetie..." I whispered, nose burning with unshed tears.

I sat there with my friend, on opposite ends of our phones, mourning the loss of what could have been, and I cried with him until the sun peeked over the horizon.

* * *

**February 14, 2014**

"Hey, babe," I spoke into the phone, toeing off my heels and unzipping my slacks, "I'm going to be a little late tonight."

Preston sighed.

I felt a twinge of annoyance but really, I couldn't blame him. Lately, it seemed as if all I've been doing was calling to tell him I was held up at work or to cancel our dates completely.

The frustration was evident in his voice when he replied, "There's a six month waiting list to dine there. Do you know how many favors I've had to call in to secure our reservation for _tonight_?"

"I know, I know. I really am sorry. I promise I'll try to hurry." I said, removing my bra and shimmying into the red dress I bought for the occasion.

"Is it Alex?"

I didn't respond.

Preston cursed. "Of course this is about Alex. When is it _not _about Alex? I'll be eating without you if you're not there by 8."

Then he hung up.

I tried, I really really tried quell the resentment I felt towards my friend. I knew he needed me but fuck my life, my relationship with my fiancé was hanging by a thread as it was.

Sighing, I pulled my hair into a messy chignon and called a car service to send a car. By the time I heard the driver honking, I'd already applied smokey eyes and a little foundation to my face and was slicking on a thin layer of nude gloss to my lips. I grabbed my already transferred Yves Saint Laurent patent leather chain strap purse and slid my feet into my patent leather Louboutin cage heels. Then, I slipped into my hip length black fur coat, tied the leather sash around my waist, and climbed into the back of the black Lincoln Town Car waiting outside of my house.

Nearly an hour and a half later, I was greeted and let in by Barry, the doorman, and rode the elevator up to the 39th floor apartment that Alex shared with his brother Eric.

The door to their place was wide open and I could hear yelling as I made my way out of the elevator.

"Where the fuck is it?" Alex demanded.

Unsure of the situation I suddenly found myself in, I hesitated at their doorway. It was futile; Alex saw me and, grabbing ahold of my wrist, yanked me inside and slammed the door shut.

I barely had enough time to process the fact that my arm felt like it was fire when I found myself thrown against a wall.

"Sook, spot me, yeah? I'll pay you back next time." Alex said frantically.

His eyes were wild, his hair an unwashed, greasy mess. The beginnings of a beard was already settling in on what used to be an always clean shaven face. The bags under his eyes in combination with his sunken cheeks and disturbingly sallow complexion painted the picture of a man who endured a lifetime of hard living, not the privileged one working towards his MBA at NYU Stern I'd met a year ago.

He didn't wait for my reply before he pulled my purse from my shoulder and began pilfering through it, grabbing the two hundred dollar bills I'd kept on me for emergencies and what little change I had leftover from my fare.

Before I could mutter a word, Alex was wrenched away from me and slammed into the wall adjacent to mine. My heart pounding, I looked over to find Eric towering over his little brother with a hand wrapped around his throat.

Face twisted in a mixture of anguish and fury, Eric leaned into Alex and bellowed, "The fuck is wrong with you? That's Sookie!" he grabbed his brother's chin and turned it towards me, "Not a fucking rag doll, not a fucking ATM machine; your best - no, your _only _fucking friend, Sookie!"

Alex struggled against his brother, punching, kicking, screaming to no avail. Then, to my horror, he tilted his head back all the way then thrust it forward so quickly and with such force into his brother's face that Eric didn't have time to dodge the blow. Blood sprayed everywhere as Eric's nose bled freely. He cursed but still, he refused to release Alex from his steely grip.

Shaking Alex by the shoulders, Eric whispered fiercely, "Brother, swear to God I love you, but how do I protect you from yourself when you're fighting me every fucking step of the way?"

Enraged and overcome by something so deeply disturbed that I couldn't even fathom what it was, he made a guttural inhuman sound deep in his throat and growled, "I don't fucking need your protection. You run around thinking you can save everyone but we both know the truth."

Then, his face changed and the most disturbing expression I'd ever seen on anyone, something akin to complete and utter evil, appeared on his face. He leaned in, and, centimeters away from Eric's face, he smiled. But it wasn't his usual boyish grin. No, this one was ugly and I knew, from the expression on his face to the disturbing smile on his lips, that whatever he was about to say would cause irreparable damage to his relationship with his brother.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I moved and found myself suddenly next to them. My hand that I lifted in hopes of covering Alex's mouth, froze in midair when the words left his lips.

"You couldn't save Freyda when she needed you most. She probably thought you were going to rescue her the whole time she was drowning." He chuckled, and it was a cruel, ugly sound. "I wonder, _brother_, if her last thoughts were that you'd save her in time or if she finally saw you for the fraud that you are and died regretting ever trusting in you?" His hands reached up and easily pushed his brother's hands off him. "You're a fucking failure. You couldn't save Freyda then, and you sure as fuck can't save me now."

Eric, standing shock still, didn't even blink when Alex shoved him off.

Alex cast a sideways glance at me and I saw a flicker of an emotion, shame, before he ducked and tagged my discarded purse from the floor. He rummaged through it and, finding what he was looking for, he shoved it into the pocket of his filthy jeans and took off. It wasn't until later that I'd realize he'd stolen my ATM, debit, and credit cards.

"Eric?" I whispered, cautiously.

He was still frozen in the spot.

I swallowed and placed a hand on his arm. "Sweetie?"

Nothing, not even a blink.

I glanced at the door, knowing I'd still be able to make it on time to dinner if I left right away, and walked over to close it. Picking up my purse and shoving the contents back inside, I reached for Eric's hand and began leading him towards his living room. Mind on something far, far away from the present, he followed like a mindless puppet and sat down on the charcoal grey sectional when I tugged gently on his hand.

I shot a quick text to Preston, telling him I was sorry but I couldn't make it, then draped my coat across a chair and strode over to the wet bar facing Eric's wrap around balcony's doors. Recalling from the few times we drank together that he liked his Scotch neat, I poured two fingers of the amber hued liquor into a tumbler and brought it over to him.

Grabbing his limp hands, I wrapped them around the glass and ordered, "Drink."

His eyes flitted to me before landing on the drink in his hands. Without a word, he lifted the tumbler and swallowed everything in one gulp.

He made a move to stand, but I pushed him back down and said, "I got it."

Deciding I could use a drink, or four, as well, I grabbed a bottle of Patrón for myself, switched the bottle of Glenlivet 21 for a Glenfiddich 15 (because 21's were meant to be savoured) for Eric, a shot glass and plopped down unceremoniously next to him.

"I'll match you shot for shot. Loser buys dinner." I announced.

Eric looked at me and, for the first time since I met him last March, it was without heat. He shook his head and said, "Go. It's Valentine's Day, your fiancé must be waiting somewhere for you."

I shrugged. "Eh. Fuck him."

He glanced at me. "Fuck him?"

I nodded once. "He's an uptight prick who hates my friends and thinks Brooklyn is the ghettos. Fuck him."

Eric shook his head. "Don't mean that. Go have dinner with your guy, I'm good."

"I'm staying and drinking whether you're joining me or not." Then I uncorked the bottle of tequila and poured myself a shot. Lifting the glass to my lips, I said, "He sleeps on the inside," then threw my head back and swallowed.

He eyed me curiously, said, "Don't know what that means, but I'll drink to it." then poured and swallowed a shot of Scotch.

I poured another glassful, and sneered, "He thinks eating from food vendors are low class," then threw it back.

"The fuck?! Vendies _are_ New York." Eric said with utter contempt before draining his glass.

"He calls his mom and dad, 'mother' and 'father' even though they're one of those unhealthily enmeshed families!" I said, and took another shot.

Eric looked confused by that one, but he tossed his shot back anyway like the trooper that he was.

"He calls me Susannah!" I yelled, throwing my hands in the air. Then, deciding that was a particularly offensive one, I slammed back _two_ shots and prepared a third.

"Thought your name was Sookie?" Eric asked with a bemused expression on his face.

"It _is,"_ I growled, then threw back the third shot.

A smile played on his lips. Huh, who'd have thought my asshole fiancé's shitty habits would elicit a smile on Manhattan's hottest bachelor?

That reminded me, "Don't you have a supermodel to wine and dine?"

"Nope," he replied.

I tilted my head to the side, "An actress?"

"Unh uh,"

Huh. But those were his usual fare.

"Ooh, you upgraded to a tv anchor? Those need journalist degrees right?" My eyes lit in excitement.

Eric shook his head.

Then it hit me, and I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "A reality tv star?"

That got a genuine smile out of him for some reason. "Nej,"

I scratched my head and furrowed my brows, oblivious to the grin that encompassed his face.

"Before you ask if I'm dating a porn star-" I opened my mouth to argue but he shook his head, "don't deny it; you were running out of options and would've gotten to that sooner or later. I don't do Valentine's."

I chewed my lip thoughtfully then blurted, "you don't _do,_ as in fuck, your Valentines?"

He took another shot. "Do as in don't believe in, don't celebrate, don't take women out on February 14th."

My eyes widened in shock and horror. "Why the hell not? You celebrate all the other aspects of Cupid's mythology."

"Such as?"

"Desire, attraction, erotic love." I replied without missing a beat.

"I don't lead women on. To invite a woman out on Valentine's Day would falsely imply that I want something from her other than a good fuck."

My lips pursed. I knew that's how he and Alex were but jeezus, to hear it spelled out like that was soo fucking offensive. And on behalf of the sisterhood, I was righteously pissed the fuck off. So I told him so.

"You're a pig," I declared, eyes narrowed.

He shrugged. "Never pretended to be otherwise."

"Women should know how big of a pig you are,"

"They do, I don't hide it."

"Someone needs to warn them," I continued, not bothering to listen to him.

His brow lifted, "Warn them?"

"Maybe an ad in the paper or on a billboard." I tapped my bottom lip with my finger and nodded, "a fifty story billboard in Times Square of Eric Northman with the words, _Fucks em, leaves em_ across the chest in blood red paint. I'll take up a collection, I'm sure it wouldn't be long before everyone you've fucked donates a dollar - I'll get the money in no time."

He chuckled, "Haven't fucked three hundred thousand women,"

I deflated. "Three hundred grand for an ad? That's insane. How'd you know, anyway?"

"Looked into it for my bars."

I nodded, he had three now and was planning the fourth.

Ire forgotten, I asked, "How's business?"

He shrugged, "Good,"

I tucked a stray hair behind my ear. Eric looked at my hand with a funny expression on his face.

Of course I nudged him with my shoulder, and asked, "What?"

He shook his head, "Nothing,"

I nudged him harder, this time bumping him with my head, and repeated, "W_hat_?"

He looked at my hand, then looked at me. "Ring isn't you."

I lifted my hand and stared at my sapphire and diamond engagement ring. "It's pretty..." I looked back at him.

"But it isn't you. The two British princesses the original was given to? Yeah. _You?_" He looked at me again and shook his head, "No."

"Then what's me?" I asked, curious.

"Equal parts cute, sexy, funny, and ball breaking. Feminine yet edgy. Loud but quiet. A foul mouth who curses and throws punches like a dude but who's also got the kindest, purest heart I've ever known. What you aren't, is a woman proposed to with another woman's ring. You aren't even a woman who should be proposed to with a fucking stock ring."

I was touched and completely speechless.

Eric tipped my chin up and looked into my eyes, "You're a woman who inspires a new ring to be created just for you, and you alone."

He looked at my lips hungrily.

I licked my lips and whispered, "No wonder you get laid as often as you do. You're _good_."

His eyes refocused on mine. Then he blinked and sat back with a sexy grin. "I know."

I smiled and thought I was good too. I got his mind off Freyda, whoever she was, and got him back in Mack mode. I had a feeling he was such a man whore precisely because of what happened to her, but that was a problem too big for me to tackle. It also wasn't any of my business.

Then, my stomach let loose the loudest growl. Cheeks flaming, I looked at Eric sheepishly and shrugged. "I was saving my appetite all day for dinner."

He shook his head with obvious amusement then stood and held his hand out for me to take. "Come on, let's get you fed."

My eyes lit up at the mention of food. "What are we ordering?" I asked, excitedly.

"Taking you out for a proper meal." He paused and gave me a scorching hot once over that left me feeling as if he now knew me intimately, "You, in that dress? Definitely not a woman whose male company orders her takeout."

I gave him a crooked smile, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I bet you tell all the girls that," then took his proffered hand and went to get me fed.

* * *

**A/N: * regarding Hadley:**

**In no way am I condemning abortions. I understand that everyone is different and well, shit happens. Whether it's for medical reasons, personal choice, sexual assault, whatever - I know that unless I've walked a mile in another woman's shoes, I have no right to judge her on such a life altering decision nor do I have the right to tell her what to do with her body.**

**That said; while I absolutely believe it's a woman's right to decide whether or not to terminate her pregnancy, I also believe selling the dreams of a child to someone and then deliberately taking it away from them without warning is vicious and cruel. Yes, I'm talking about Alex's situation where he was manipulated into taking back Hadley for the sake of his unborn child only to lose _everything, _but I'm also talking about the loss of something you thought was within your grasp only to have it abruptly taken away from you.**

**I suffered a miscarriage three years prior to the birth of my son. Even though it was early on in the pregnancy (first trimester), the love I'd already developed for it, the what _could have/might have _beens, the scenarios I'd envisioned of its future, the _potential_- it still haunts me to this day.**

**And I'd like to believe that such a loss would be as devastating for a good, decent man as well.**

**I'm also talking about the loss that potential parents (via adoption) go through each and every time they're told they're a match only to find out the birth mom changed her mind (which she's well within her right to do). ****From what I've read on the parenting forum I'm subscribed to, it's fucking brutal. ****There are also the adoptive parents who get their kids taken away after they're already living together. That possibility is what causes some (few but still present, according to what I've read) adoptive parents to fib on their applications and not allow contact after papers are final. It's a great big mess and the whole process is rife with heartache and tears.**

**In short, I'm not shitting on Hadley's decision to discontinue her pregnancy. I'm shitting on her for being a cunt. She could've kept the pregnancy but moved to North Korea and I'd _still _ be hating on her.**

**That said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was difficult to write - capturing those rough emotions is definitely not my forte but I'm learning. I'm really enjoying this E&S, more so than the two in my other fic :x The next chapter for NED hasn't even been written yet but I got some good ideas flowing thanks to my beta so it shouldn't take too long to churn out another chapter.**

**Anyway, enough jibber jabber. Thanks for reading, reviewing and favoring! Your reviews shape the story and encourage me (and other ff writers) to keep writing. It's like crack!**

Sook's outfit and ring (and rings Eric referred to) are in profile!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This one's for you, hettyblue**

Chapter 6

**March 17th**

After the Valentine's Day fiasco, you're probably thinking, "Girl, you need to save Alex from himself, break off the engagement with Preston, focus on your career and for God's sake, take a ride on the Eric Northman Express!" But what may seem glaringly obvious to the casual observer often isn't as transparent to the person in the middle of the shit storm called her life. It may take Divine Intervention, sometimes in the form of a domineering employer, other times in the form of tragedy, and still, sometimes we stay blind to what's right in front of us until it's too late.

Which was why four months away from marrying the supposed man of my dreams, I was breaking out in hives at the mere thought of said wedding.

"Stop scratching, you're only making it worse," admonished Pam.

I shot the woman who was my idol, mentor, boss, and over the last week a pain in my tight (thanks to biking for an hour every night) ass, a scathing look. Then I scratched my stomach and snarled, "you brought up the W word on purpose."

She didn't bother denying it - because it was true - and shrugged. "I don't understand why you're going through with this farce of a-"

I covered my ears and sang loudly, "Tell me why! Ain't nothin but a heartache. Tell me why! Ain't nothin but a mis-"

"You're completely tone deaf." She said, rolling her eyes.

I ignored her and continued my strangled cat rendition of arguably the most iconic pop song of our time by, hands down, the best boy band ever formed. "I never wanna hear you sayyy. Iiii want it thattt w-"

"Why am I putting up with this shit? I'm Pamela fucking Ravenscroft! Shut it before I sew it shut."

I shut it.

Uncrossing her legs, she reached across the desk and yanked one of my hands off my ears. "I'm genuinely curious."

Sighing, I uncovered my other ear and studied the pattern I'd doodled on my iPad. It was very pretty; perfect on a full skirt.

It also looked so very pathetically sad.

In fact, everything I'd been designing since Preston proposed two months ago has been nothing but depressing. They would've been great for Fall/Winter formal wear, but since we were actually preparing for the Spring/Summer collection for this September's Fashion Week, the dark dreary colors and stiff fabrics were a cause for concern seeing as how my livelihood at the moment depended on my ability to create things more suitable for a destination wedding instead of say, a funeral.

I frowned. I honestly never thought I'd be getting married this soon after graduation. I met Preston in July - two short months after the end of my final semester. He proposed in January - six months after we met. I didn't even know why I said yes. It was more of a knee jerk reaction than anything. I didn't burst into happy tears or immediately call everyone I knew to share the news. I didn't log onto Facebook to change my status to 'engaged', or hop on twitter to tell my followers, or show my Instagram peeps the Princess Diana/Kate inspired sapphire engagement ring I was now rocking on my finger.

I didn't do shit because I wasn't ecstatic about any of it. Not the ring, not the proposal, not the dinner.. not the man.

We fell into a comfortable pattern through our six month courtship. Shit, did people even say 'courtship' anymore? That's how out of the loop I was. Preston was my first serious relationship. He was safe, he was reliable, and he was a great guy when he wasn't trying to convince me to move out of Brooklyn like it was still the freaking gang lands of Pacino and Deniro movies.

So what if my heart never skipped beats around him and I never got butterflies in my stomach from hearing his voice? They sounded like serious conditions WebMD would have a field day over anyway.

That said, shouldn't proposals deserve _some _fanfare?

Growing up, whenever I imagined my wedding all I really paid attention to were the gowns I'd imagine myself wearing but, somewhere in the back of my adolescent mind, there was always a handsome groom who undoubtedly proposed in an over the top, grand gesture of the century, kind of way. Sometimes, he did it with a unicorn drawn carriage ride around Central Park with rose petals or glitter falling down the sky. Sometimes, he'd slay a dragon before dropping to his knee and proclaim his love for me while declaring I was the princess of some foreign kingdom. After I hit my teens, I'd imagine whatever boy band member or actor that was hot at the time showing up in a white limousine. He'd feed me chocolates and strawberries and we'd drink champagne out of fancy crystal chutes. Then, he'd blindfold me and lead me somewhere and when the blindfolds came off, I'd be standing in front of the ring display at Tiffany's.

Obviously none of that happened.

I didn't expect a flashmob or some e-scavenger hunt that eventually lead me to his YouTube video proposal or anything like that, but jeezus, he didn't even get down on one knee! He just slid the box across the table after signaling the waiter to collect our dessert plates (which I hadn't even finished) and popped the question.

Actually, he didn't even _ask_ me to marry him. He simply _said_, "Marry me, Susannah."

See, there was no opening for me to decline after that. I mean, if he'd ended it in a question mark, I'm sure I would've told him I wasn't ready, or that it was too soon. But how the hell did you respond to something that clearly wasn't a question?

Alright, so I was chicken shit. I was starting to fall for him and thought hoped that I'd be in love with him by the wedding which, honest to God, I thought wouldn't be for a couple of years. Long engagements were all the rage, how was I supposed to know he had a traditional six month engagement in mind? It wasn't until his mother's phone call a week ago, enquiring which venue I'd booked, that I found out my wedding was to be in July; on the very same date Preston and I'd met exactly one year ago. It all sounded very sweet until Mrs. Pardloe informed me that it was a Pardloe family tradition. Preston's father, and his father before him, all proposed six months after meeting their future brides and wed on the one year anniversary of their meeting.

His mother was a... Let's just say, after meeting his parents, I understood why he always referred to them as 'mother' and 'father'. Preston sometimes appeared to walk around with an air of superiority, this was true, but his parents weren't even from the same planet as us. They were cold, pretentious, uptight and his mother was the queen of passive aggressiveness and backhanded compliments.

Take our phone call, for example. On the topic of wedding dresses, she informed me, "you have such a pretty face, Susannah. You'll be simply stunning after shedding your college fifteen for the gown."

I never gained any weight during my four years at FIT. In fact, I lost a good ten pounds during my final semester.

On the topic of venues, she helpfully supplied, "I'm sure you'd have chosen the perfect... catering hall... but darling, a dear friend of the Pardloes generously offered the use of his estate in the Hamptons. It'll be the event of the year! Your relatives and guests will have to find lodging elsewhere since the Pardloes, that will include you too Susannah, and our dearest friends will be staying at the ten bedroom estate and accompanying guest house. Of course we'll have made accommodations for Pamela and Sophie Anne in the main house. Afterall, they _are _our esteemed guests."

Yes, the woman viewed her son's wedding as an overpriced party where she got to show off her guest list and rub elbows with the rich and famous. Yes, that list included my boss (whom she's never met, I asked Pam) and her A-list movie star of a wife, Sophie Anne Leclerq. And finally, yes, she did indeed insinuate that my family and friends, which apparently did _not_ include Pam and Ms. Leclerq since they somehow became "our" guests, were beneath her upper crust friends.

The fact that she was taking over my wedding and I couldn't even find it in me to care should've been a huge neon sign. But I let myself believe that I gave in to her demands because the woman was intimidating and that I was taught to respect my elders nevermind that I never gave a shit about authority and never gave an inch to anyone who didn't deserve it.

"You have permission to speak." Pam announced.

I wanted to scratch an itch on my face with a particular finger to let her know exactly how I felt about her magnanimous decision, but thought better of it. I _was_ on the clock so really, I should show deference to my boss. Instead, I played with the pattern on my iPad; it would look lovely as a lace overlay on a full skirt or a corset bodice.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" I hedged.

"Sookie, you don't love him." She held up her hand when I tried to refute her claim. "I may not understand the feelings most of our sex may have towards men, but I'm a woman who's lucky enough to have been in love a time or two before. Love, regardless of gender or religion, means the same thing in every fucking language. And in plain English, that means, You. Don't. Love. Him. So what I want to know is, why are you marrying him? It isn't the 1920's, so you don't need him to provide for you. Again, it isn't the 1920's, so you don't need him to have children. You don't run in the social circles where the appearance of a happy marriage would make you a more appealing candidate for whatever the fuck campaign you're running for. You're creative, funny as fuck, pretty, have a promising career at one of the top fashion houses in the world and, if you tell Sigebert in HR this I'll deny it 'till my dying breath, you've got a great fucking ass and an even better rack, and up until this ridiculous decision of yours, intelligent too. So, again, please enlighten me, what the fuck are you doing marrying the poster child for BBB?"

"BBB?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"Boring Blue Blood."

Wait until you meet his parents, I thought.

What I said was, "I... He's a great catch."

"And you're what?" She asked, with a challenging glint in her eyes.

"It's not that. My self worth and self esteem are at perfectly healthy levels."

"Then _why_?"

"Honestly?"

"No, I'm fucking asking you because I'm bored and feel like entertaining bullshit. Yes, of course, honestly!"

I sighed. "He's my first."

Her eyes just about popped out of her head. "You're shitting me."

"My first serious relationship, geez get your mind out of the gutter." Then I thought about it and amended, "Actually... He's technically my first too. The guy I lost my virginity to didn't know up from down and came before he was all the way there."

Pam stood up and began walking towards the door. When I didn't make a move to stand, she turned and asked, "Do you have alcohol stashed somewhere in your office?"

"No, of course not." _That, the lie detector detected, is a lie!_ a voice htt sounded eerily like Maury Povovich's boomed in my head. I had one of those cute little mini bar liquor bottles hidden deep inside my drawer for emergencies but that wasn't something you admitted to the person signing your pay stubs.

She gave me a look that said she knew I was full of shit, but said, "Then come on. I'm going to need a drink if I want to successfully complete OLS."

"OLS?" I asked, following her to the elevator.

She didn't say anything but I could've sworn I heard her mumble "Operation Liberate Sookie"

**March 25th**

"Thought you'd be glad he took it so well." Eric said, genuine confusion written all over his face.

"Not _that _well! He just nodded, asked me to pass the salt, and continued eating! Meanwhile, I spent two weeks scratching my tits off due to wedding related stress. It was really, really humbling." I concluded with a pout.

"So..." Eric began, then leaned forward in his stool and tugged on my chin with his thumb distractedly. Satisfied my lips were back in their proper positions, he sat back, furrowed his brows and continued,"You're pissed because you got the easy breakup you wanted."

"Yup," I nodded, even though it _did_ sound kind of insane. But, it was the truth and we never _ever_ lied to each other.

Strictly platonic relationships with heterosexuals of the opposite sex were fucking great like that. I didn't have to worry about giving the wrong answer like, say, when Jade asked if the Barbie pink lipstick she just bought looked good on her, or when Lafayette asked how I really felt about one of his new boyfriends. Straight guys pretty much only asked questions they actually wanted honest answers to.

It was awesome.

Shaking his head, he muttered one word. "Women."

It was exactly a week and a day after Pam successfully talked me off the ledge. After our talk in my tiny office, I followed her upstairs to her sprawling one where we raided her dry bar and talked until our stomachs demanded dinner around 8pm. Instead of ordering food, she placed a call to her personal chef and had him set up dinner for the two of us at her apartment.

Although 'apartment' was definitely an understatement.

Pam, and her wife, owned the top five connecting floors in the exclusive residential building and had them opened up and connected with a personal elevator. I felt like a country bumpkin when she drove her car directly _into_ her building, having had no idea that there were apartments equipped with car elevators that doubled as parking spots once it reached the designated floor, and shouted at her to stop thinking she'd had one drink too many.

After a delicious five course dinner, we retired to her penthouse terrace and continued imbibing in unholy amounts of liquor. By the end of the night, I'd learned that Pam's fashion empire was completely self made.

Ravenscroft also wasn't the surname she was born with.

Forty-seven years ago, she was born into a political dynasty whose last name was recognizable in every corner of the world. Although publicly, their political views were liberal and they fought for equality, behind closed doors, they were old fashioned and their stance on all things even slightly controversial or "uncomfortable" were as archaic as one would expect from such a long reigning bloodline.

When she came out over thirty years ago, something unfortunately still difficult to do today but took balls of fucking steel to do back then, her family didn't disown her or do anything that unseemly. They simply disregarded her proclamation as nothing but the fighting words of a rebellious and attention seeking brat and sent her to an even further away boarding school. She didn't bother finishing and instead, boarded a flight to Paris and began her career as a runway model. It helped that she was already a darling among the fashion elite due to her family's standing, so there definitely was nepotism involved. But as soon as she could, she started her own business _making_ dresses instead of strutting down catwalks wearing them and, as they say, the rest is fashion history.

That all said, if ever there was a fighter, someone who worked their asses off for what they wanted, it was Pam. It was also a quality she valued in others and spotted easily. It was the reason she hired me. She thought I had it in me, the natural born ability to fight for what I wanted, what I believed in, what I knew was mine. It's why I was given the opportunity to intern in her bridal department. It was also why she became disappointed to find out I was allowing life lead me down the wrong path without kicking and screaming the entire way that I wanted to take another route. So she sat me down for my Come to Jesus Moment and pried my eyes open with pliers and toothpicks. She made me see how wrong Preston was for me but, more importantly, she made me realize how selfish I was being for letting him believe I was in it for the same reasons he was.

He deserved someone who was madly in love with him. Someone who'd be so excited about being his fiancée that she'd send a mass text to everyone she knew and hop onto every social media account she had and announce to the world that she was marrying the man of her dreams the second her tears of joy dried. She'd be thrilled, over the moon, at receiving the ten carat sapphire engagement ring. She wouldn't be able to contain her euphoria or wait to show everyone how gorgeous the ring was. She wouldn't be breaking out in hives at the mere thought of their wedding.

She wouldn't be me.

So I broke up with Preston the next day. I debated over doing it over dinner in public so he couldn't make a scene or doing it in private to give him his right to beg, plead, and the angry tirade that was sure to follow when I stood my ground.

After a sleepless night and much lamenting, I decided I owed him at least the right to express his feelings after I so ruthlessly stomped on his heart. So after work, I bought groceries and went over to his place to cook us our final dinner together. Then I proceeded to rip his heart out.

I should've known better. Afterall, he _was_ Portia Pardloe's son.

Instead of answering Eric, I lifted the shot of tequila to my lips threw it back and slammed the empty glass on the counter. The new bartender, Liam, hurried over and refilled my glass even though there was a double stacked line of customers surrounding the bar. Chow and Longshadow, the other bartenders working tonight, side eyed the fuck out of the new guy. When Chow caught me staring, he winked and tossed the shaker behind his back and up over his head, catching it easily with his other hand. I dutifully clapped and he inclined his head before pouring the contents of the shaker into a glass for a customer.

Ah, the benefits of being friends with the owner. Not only did I get my drinks before everyone else, I never had to wait on lines anymore and was on a first name basis with all of his employees. And that was saying a lot since dude owned about half a dozen bars, was part owner of a nightclub and had more people working for him than I had shoes.

I tilted my head to the side and looked at Eric. Even though he had to have been loaded out the ass with money, he worked on rotation at all of his bars. He wasn't tending bar tonight though, so he wasn't wearing his usual button down shirt and dress pants work gear. Nope, he took the night off to commiserate with me over my newly minted status as Single and had on a leather jacket, white tee, jeans, and motorcycle boots. He was also, I noticed, surrounded by women as usual. And, as usual when around me, Jade, and any of my other female friends he happened to find himself hanging out with on any given weekend, he ignored everything female but us when we were together.

Eric was great that way; making you feel like you were the only person in the room he wanted to spend time with.

Too bad for the women surrounding him that he didn't do relationships.

At that thought, I snorted. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

Preoccupied with staring at something on my shirt, his eyes lifted to mine and he asked oh so brightly, "Huh?"

I gestured between us. "The two of us. We're fucking hilarious, that's what we are, what with our commitment issues and fear of anything even semi permanent."

He shrugged. He was used to the crazy random shit I spewed by now. "Gave it a try. Not your fault shit didn't work out."

"Maybe we're destined to be alone forever." I sighed.

"Or maybe we're just biding our time, waiting for the right one."

I looked at him doubtfully. "You think so?"

He chucked me under the chin and replied, "Know so. Now cheer up, I got good news."

Doing a hop and pull with my stool, I wiggled my way closer to him and nudged him with my shoulder. "Sharing is caring, now spill."

"Think I found the one."

I gasped and jumped up to hug him. "Congratulations!"

Seeing as he was still seated and I was standing in my four inch heels, his head landed right above my cleavage. He looked down, then back up at me with a dopey grin, and said, "Should tell you good news every time I see you if it means getting a face full of ti-"

I slapped at his head and disengaged his arms that somehow ended up around my waist. "Down boy!"

Giving me an unrepentant smile, he shrugged and said, "Wanna meet her?"

"Duh!" I replied, and gave him the accompanying 'what the hell do you think?' face.

"Pick you up at eight tomorrow night."

Now wearing my happy pants, I did a little dance on the stool and shouted, "Surprise me, Chow! I'm feeling wild tonight!"

Eric shook his head once at Chow, grabbed my hand and pulled me off the stool. Then he lifted a chin at Longshadow who then grabbed a motorcycle helmet from somewhere behind the bar and passed it to Eric.

Chow nodded at his boss and gave me an apologetic little wave before returning to the sea of customers surrounding him.

I dragged my feet, all the while grumbling, "But I was just getting started..."

"It's two. Got work in the morning." He said, leading me out of the bar to where his custom, all black and built for a giant, MV Agusta F4 RR aka the world's sexiest motorcycle ever made, was parked. I knew all this because I was with him when he ordered the customizations at Tray's shop last month.

Tray, Jade's man after he cleared up the colossal fuck up that was Phone Gate, it turned out, owned a chain of auto customization shops around the country. He was being completely modest when he told Jade that he owned a car garage. He was also completely and utterly head over heels for my girl. Apparently, he had an emergency at his shop in Cali and had to rush there right after he dropped her off that morning. In his mad dash to make the next available flight, he left his cell in his car which was coincidentally parked in JFK's lot for the following week and a half. But he called her the second he got back and they've been going strong ever since.

I groaned. "Don't remind me. Fuck, I'm only gonna get about three hours of sleep."

Ever the gentleman, Eric slipped his helmet over my head then shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It was still warm and, even with the helmet on though the visor was up, I could still smell the leather and traces of the cologne he was wearing. Something about those two scents mingling together sent a flutter in my belly but I chocked it up to nerves about riding.

"You're gonna freeze in a tee." I said, looking up at him.

His hands reached for the jacket's zipper as he replied, "Don't worry about it."

I grabbed his hands, halting his progress. "I'm serious. I'm already wearing a cardigan and besides, your ginormous body'll block all the wind anyway."

Eric shook my hands off and finished zipping me up. "Leather's for safety. We crash, you'll keep your skin." Then he looked down at my legs and added, "Most of it, anyway."

My eyes widened, then I made something akin to an, "Eek," sound and debated on whether or not this was something I was willing to risk. Then I thought, 'Miss an opportunity to ride on the back of a hot guy's motorcycle? What am I stupid?' And slipped my arms easily through the armholes and into the leather sleeves even though the jacket was zipped up to my chin. The sleeves were about a foot too long and the jacket fit me like a dress.

Eric swung a long ass leg over the bike and straddled the seat. When I didn't move, he turned and cast me an impatient look. I nibbled my lip and studied the bike, unsure of where to sit since his ass was already firmly planted on the only seat on the beautiful beast.

I looked at the bike, then back up at him. Then back at the bike, then back at him. "Umm... How do I.. Where do I..."

"You've never ridden before?"

I shook my head.

A devilish glint appeared in his eyes as a grin spread across his face. Then, ass still in his seat, he turned his upper body sideways, grabbed me around the waist and lifted me effortlessly onto the back of the bike. I looked down and saw I was sitting on a leather pad. It was behind him, on the edge of the bike and was what I assumed to be literally, the edge of the bike. The cushioned leather under my ass said otherwise.

"Hang on," was the last thing I heard before the engine roared and we shot out into the street.

Grabbing onto him for dear life, I let out an embarrassingly girly screech then braved falling to my death when I lifted my right arm and punched him in his side when I felt more than heard, his body rumble with laughter.

Five blocks later, I finally calmed down enough to enjoy the ride. Exhilarating didn't even begin to describe it. We flew through the streets and everything, and I mean _everything_, seemed to melt away but the feel of the bike's purr beneath me, the flashing lights of my beautiful city surrounding me, and the complete trust I had for and safety provided me by the man whose back I was plastered to and leaning against. The freedom and thrill of riding was truly insurmountable and to share it with someone was such an intimate experience. It was as if the two of you were in on a secret or joke that no one else knew about and would never understand unless they were right there with you when it happened. Because it wouldn't be the same even if you tried recreating the moment with them; there could only be that _one_ moment. Each experience thereafter would consequently be different, fraudulent, regardless if the same routes were taken or if somehow the same exact people, cars, etc, happened to appear at the same exact spots because each experience was unique unto itself due to the emotions it elicited while riding and therefore could _never_ be duplicated. This was, quite simply, a once in a lifetime experience and I was grateful to Eric for sharing it with me.

Before I knew it, we were outside my house. We stayed as we were, him leaning forward, me wrapped around his back, unmoving. Neither of us seemed to want to move for fear of breaking the spell that was cast during our ride to Brooklyn.

In the end, Eric was the one who brought us back to reality. "It's late."

I nodded but otherwise refused to budge.

He lifted his hands from the handlebars and reached down to squeeze mine that were still on his muscled stomach. "You gotta be up in a few hours."

Sighing, I gave his stomach a squeeze, then pulled on my big girl panties and climbed off the bike with Eric's help. After giving him back his helmet and jacket - the jacket he wore immediately after I handed it back to him, the helmet he held onto - I leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Thanks Eric, tonight... Tonight was amazing and just what I needed to get over my shit."

He nodded knowingly, "Don't worry about it."

Of course he understood, he got to ride that beautiful beast whenever he felt like it. With one last longing look at the bike, I waved to Eric then turned and made my way quietly up my porch. I fumbled for my keys, found them, unlocked the door and went inside. The second the door closed shut behind me, the Beautiful Beast's engine roared to life and she, and her awesome daddy, took off for their place back in the city.

"Until next time, BB." I whispered, to no one.

**A/N: sorry for the hiatus and filleresque update! I'm alive and in good health (knock on wood), but have been busy as a hooker on nickel Wednesdays. My son finally grew out of his boring worm stage where all he did was sleep and well, wiggle around blindly like a worm all day. Unfortunately, that means he's also a handfuckingfull now that he's mobile and I have no free time to myself to shower, shit, and hell, comb my hair or tweeze my eyebrows, nonetheless write between taking care of him and making sure wild animals (our two Yorkshire terriers) aren't tearing our house apart, our home isn't burning to the ground (cooking) or violating any safety or health codes (cleaning). The chapters will come, just at a much slower pace than you're used to from me. I can't make any promises, but one thing I'm fairly certain of is there will be at least two updates per month since I managed to finish this one (although it isn't really meaty) and a quarter of the next URM in approximately a week.**

**Thank you for your patience and continued loyalty/support for this fic!**

**also, the ladies over at youwantbloodawards dot wordpress .com are hosting a contest for SVM/TB fanfic. Yours truly has been nominated for two categories (best newbie and best pairing for the Pam and Corbett of my other story, Not Exactly Dead) and would be oh so very grateful if you somehow happened to wander over there and, oh I don't know, checked the box next to my name and clicked enter. :D shameless, I know. If you feel another writer is more deserving then please, feel free to vote for them. I know our fandom is lucky to have so many talented writers and I honestly am glad and surprised to have been nominated at all. that said, go check out the contest, there's a compilation of nominees and links to their awesome stories. I've begun reading a new fic thanks to that list as well, so maybe you'll find something there too :)**

**p.s. Bree, girl, I only recognized about half of the celebrities on your list but the ones I do know, I love! Charlize as Pam is an interesting choice. Before the show I pictured Pam as Amanda Seyfried but after TB, Kristen is all I'm seeing. She's 47 in URM so I'm interested to hear who you'd cast. :)**


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